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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24867622">Lamen Week Works 2020</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yenyen/pseuds/Jennicide'>Jennicide (yenyen)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lamen Week 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adjustment Disorder, Aimeric Is My Bad Decision Son, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Alternate Universe - Rodeo, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst Is Also on Day 7 Too My Bad, Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Break Up, Canon Compliant, Competition, Cowboys, Daemons, Damen’s Legendary Stamina, Double Drag, Drag Husbands, Drama, Fluff, Ha Ha Time for Daemons, Haircuts, Hopeful Ending, Humor, Hurt No Comfort, I Want to Be a Cowboy Baby, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Ironic Title Is Ironic, Lamen Week 2020, Laurent Is That Guy, M/M, Mentioned Physical Abuse, Misunderstandings, Modern AU, Music, My H!Canon Says Damen Is an Ugly Woman, Post-Break Up, Post-Kings Rising, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rivals, Scars, Soulmates, This Is Fine, alternate universe - cowboys, hurt me plenty, meet ugly, mentioned emotional abuse, yeah i went there</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:20:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>27,474</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24867622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yenyen/pseuds/Jennicide</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of works written to complete the eight day challenge of writing for Lamen Week 2020, a Captive Prince fan event hosted on Tumblr. Individual titles, ratings, summaries, and notes are included in each chapter.</p><p><b><span class="u">Prompts Included</span>:</b><br/>1. Summer Palace - <i>The Cornerstone</i><br/>2. Modern!AU - <i>Dissonance</i><br/>3. Disguise - <i>Sweet Ophelia</i><br/>4. Wounds - <i>There, There</i><br/>5. Soulmates!AU - <i>緣份 (Yuánfèn)</i><br/>6. Fluff - <i>Short Hair, Don't Care</i><br/>7. Angst - <i>Onus Fate and Undue Odium</i><br/>8. Kings - <i>King(s) of the Rodeo</i><br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aimeric/Jord (Captive Prince), Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lamen Week 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872490</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>125</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Lamen Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Cornerstone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><b>Title:</b> The Cornerstone<br/><b>Prompt:</b> Summer Palace<br/><b>Rating:</b> G<br/><b>Summary:</b> Wherein Laurent cannot find peace in any of their homes because nothing feels as though it truly belongs to only them. Damen does the best thing he can think of to please him.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p><br/>
“A little to the left.”</p><p>The command was followed by some shuffling noises and a loud thunk, like something heavy had just been set down.</p><p>“More to the left.”</p><p>The shuffling resumed.</p><p>“No,” came a harsh sigh. “I didn’t mean your <em> other </em> left. Put it back.”</p><p>Damen peeked his head into their bed chambers. Sure enough, there was Laurent, tormenting the servants again. It was like clockwork how often he reorganized the belongings in their bedroom. When asked why he went through so much trouble each time, Laurent would deflect and state that he simply wasn’t satisfied with the arrangement yet. To his credit, they had only just transferred the seat of their kingdom to Marlas three weeks prior.</p><p>Everything was still new for the both of them. Perhaps it was Laurent’s way of trying to exert control during a time where everything happening outside of their castle walls felt uncontrollable. Damen wasn't sure though. Most things with Laurent often ran deeper than first met the eye.</p><p>“Everything all right, sweetheart?”</p><p>The muscles of Laurent’s back went taunt for a second before relaxing. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and he turned his neck ever so slightly to eye Damen suspiciously over his shoulder. “Come to emancipate my servants have you?”</p><p>“I don’t see any reason to torture them further when we both know you’re just going to make them redo everything again tomorrow.”</p><p>Laurent hummed thoughtfully at that and waved his hand. It was a silent dismissal to the two men who’d been lugging his large wooden bookcase around their sitting room for the past fifteen minutes. They didn’t say a word but offered Damen appreciative looks before they slipped out.</p><p>“You know,” Damen approached slowly; he could tell from the little cues in Laurent’s body language that today would require more reserved caution than usual. “If you’re seeking additional projects outside of the council meetings, there are always our other keeps. Ios...” he trailed off, bringing a hand up to rest lightly on Laurent’s shoulder, every one of his movements loud enough to telegraph his intention. “Arles.”</p><p>A shudder ran down Laurent’s spine. Abruptly, he swiveled around and away before Damen could touch him.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Seeing the anger there, Damen apologized. “Sorry,” he murmured and withdrew some.</p><p>It had been brief, but he’d managed to catch the faint flash of panic in Laurent’s eyes the moment after Arles was mentioned. Laurent was much better at it now, having accepted all that had happened there and not wholly allowing it to consume him. Still, it was something he had to fight against, the gut-wrenching reaction he often experienced whenever he thought too long about his childhood home. There were few pleasant memories left in Vere for Laurent despite it being where he was born and raised, and Damen knew that their year apart before officially combining their kingdoms had not been an easy one for Laurent to weather in Vere alone.</p><p>Even now, after their respective ascensions and recent move to Marlas, Laurent continued to suffer from nightmares on a semi-regular basis. They rarely talked about them in-depth, but Damen didn’t fool himself into believing they would ever stop completely. He cursed himself; he should have known better than to try and tease, no matter his playful intent.</p><p>“I was thinking-” Damen attempted to change the subject.</p><p>“A dangerous past time for you,” Laurent quipped.</p><p>“Indeed,” Damen coughed into his hand and readjusted his stance. Laurent was staring at him. “I was thinking we might take a small trip to Lentos next month. Hardly anything has been done to that place since I was a boy, you know. It could be something we do together.”</p><p>Laurent uncrossed his arms. “No.”</p><p>“But-” Damen tried again.</p><p>“No,” Laurent repeated, more gently this time. “It is not ours, neither is Ios.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Damen was confused. They were both the kings of Vere and Akielos. All the fortresses, keeps, and castles within their borders belonged to them by right.</p><p>Laurent merely shrugged, moving closer to Damen and resting his head lightly against Damen’s chest. He didn’t have to ask to be held; Damen’s arms came up to surround him unbidden.</p><p>“Yes, well, they are <em> ours </em> in a sense,” Laurent explained, still not meeting his eyes. “But Ios is your father’s, and Lentos is your mother’s. Arles…” he didn’t finish that one.</p><p>“What about Marlas?”</p><p>“Marlas,” Laurent repeated, no feeling in the word.</p><p>“Darling, are you unhappy?” Damen asked, running his hands along Laurent’s back in a soothing gesture. “I thought we agreed-”</p><p>“We did,” Laurent interrupted. “I am not unhappy here, but I… it would seem that the more I try to make a space that <em> is </em> ours our own, it still feels like something is wrong. There is this otherness,” he conceded. “Something I can’t quite describe.”</p><p>“In time, perhaps?” Damen offered.</p><p>“Perhaps, in time,” Laurent sighed, removing himself from Damen’s hold. “I’m going to the library. See you at dinner.”</p><p>Knowing that Laurent needed time to himself while puzzling through a particular problem, Damen watched him retreat without another word. “Tonight then,” he whispered to no one and turned to gaze back at the bookcase that would surely be moved again tomorrow.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They had chosen Marlas for its strategic setting in between both of their kingdoms. It offered the middle ground to both of their people while also serving as the first successful merging of Veretian and Akielon cultures after the final battle of their father’s wars. Marlas represented the first clash of their nations and the successes peace could bring to fruition. Already people native to the region were dressed in unique fashions meant to highlight the beauty and extravagance of Veretian tastes with Akielon simplicity and functions. The common language was a mix of guttural-sounding Veretian or smooth, unhurried Akielon words, accents varying depending on where you were from and what you spoke as your mother tongue. It had suited both Laurent and Damen just fine when they’d made their decision, even if it wasn’t an easy one.</p><p>It would never be easy for Laurent nor for Damen; Auguste would always haunt these halls, his shadow trailing both of theirs down every long corridor, every lonesome moment.</p><p>By chance, Nikandros had mentioned Lentos in a letter the day before and gotten Damen to planning a trip to the Summer Palace. His suggestion had been meant to serve as a reprieve from their overwhelming amount of daily duties, but now, Damen thought, having reconsidered Laurent’s stance on ownership, he had a better idea.</p><p>It took about a week to set everything in motion, but Damen was confident that the outcome would be a pleasant one. Laurent would never go back to Arles if he could help it, and they had already arranged for other royal, loyal families to inherit the spaces they’d left behind in Vere and Akielos.</p><p>Damen’s plan was a simple one. If something old could not be refitted to suit them, then something new could take its place. The architect he’d consulted delivered the final draft before Laurent returned that night, and Damen was fidgety while awaiting him.</p><p>A few minutes before midnight, Laurent strolled in. He was already unlacing the high collar of his jacket and perfunctorily held out a wrist to Damen once he was done. The words “<em>Attend me</em>” hung unspoken between them. Damen did so without question.</p><p>“Did you eat?” Small conversation was a good way to gauge where they were at present.</p><p>Laurent nodded.</p><p>“Was it actual food this time?”</p><p>“That is for me to know and for you to find out,” Laurent smiled mischievously. They both worked to slide his jacket off. It fell on the floor forgotten as Laurent stepped forward to wind himself around Damen as a vine does a tree. He was tired, they both were. Today had been full of meetings, like most days often were. Riots, insurgents, general unrest, the people of their kingdom outside of Marlas were still experiencing growing pains and they, as the kings, were responsible for addressing each and every one of them.</p><p>“Take me to bed,” Laurent said, not really as a question, because he did not beg. The request softened something in Damen, and he leaned down to place a kiss on Laurent’s forehead.</p><p>“Of course,” he promised, “but first.” Damen directed Laurent over to the newly installed writing desk Laurent had commissioned after they’d moved in. Spread out on the surface, held down by four miscellaneous paper weights, was a large scroll with designs and writing scrawled across the surface. They were plans.</p><p>Damen almost lost his composure when he heard Laurent groan. “Surely, if it is work-related, it can wait until morning,” Laurent wheedled.</p><p>Chuckling and shaking his head, Damen said, “It’s not.” He turned Laurent in his arms and guided him toward the unfurled parchment. “It’s a gift.”</p><p>Without saying anything, Laurent stepped out of Damen’s embrace and leaned over the desk to examine the sketches and notes more closely. What greeted him were the large Akielon symbols for the words Summer and Palace. The designs were etched on a grid, something an Akielon scholar would have recommended.</p><p>“Damen, this isn’t…”</p><p>He turned and watched as Damen’s smile only grew.</p><p>“Your mother’s-”</p><p>“No, it's not hers. Look closer, my love.”</p><p>Laurent turned back and removed two of the paper weights, there were more and larger diagrams to examine underneath the first. It was not, in fact, a redesign for Lentos’ summer palace. It was a brand new construction, one that featured a delicate blend of Veretian and Akielon sensibilities seamlessly—high, foreboding walls, and open, sunlit windows with wide welcoming balconies attached. More impressively, it was located no more than a few hour’s ride from Marlas, further to the south along the coastline near Karthas.</p><p>“It’s for you,” Damen clarified. Something in his heart stuttered when Laurent turned to look back at him, eyes wide and glistening.</p><p>“Damianos, you…”</p><p>There was no force strong enough to keep Laurent from closing the space between them, and he claimed Damen’s lips in a fierce kiss that was full of love and gratitude while also emanating heat and anticipation. When they broke apart, Laurent’s hand was back to mindlessly shifting through the plans on the table.</p><p>“It’s yours,” Damen reiterated, leaning in to press their foreheads together.</p><p>“No,” Laurent whispered in quiet reverence, his fingertips still tracing the coastline of their future residence. “This one can be ours.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A special thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixen13/">Vixen13</a> for betaing this in a pinch!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Dissonance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><b>Title:</b> Dissonance<br/><b>Prompt:</b> Modern!AU<br/><b>Rating:</b> PG-13<br/><b>Summary:</b> Damen takes a part-time gig at a theater in Arles to help pay his bills. The last thing he expects is to (literally) run into one of its orchestra's most controversial soloists, Laurent deVere.<br/><b>Note:</b> If you'd like to hear the piece I listened to while writing this, it's called Symphony No. 4 in f-minor, op. 36 - II: Andantino in Modo di Canzona by Tchaikovsky. You can watch a performance of it <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PFQcPXeEEQo">here</a>.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>Damen took the part-time gig at Arles Premiere Theater because he was running low on funds. Moving to Vere had taken a bigger bite out of his savings than he’d planned, but at least he was back in a proper city now.</p><p>Having worked as a light board operator for low budget plays and talent shows in Ios as a teen had some benefits, and Damen still didn’t regret his long shot dream of wanting to be a rock star if it got him into as fine an establishment as this. While it wasn’t as grand as the Chastillion Opera House, this theater was home to the Arleon Philharmonic Orchestra.</p><p>His main duties included working alongside the head of the theater, a wrinkly gentleman named Paschal, while operating the lighting control system during productions. For a little extra side cash, he was also allowed to help out the single custodial worker doing some light cleaning duty around the theater backstage.</p><p>Damen took all of his work seriously, as was in his nature, so it was with mild surprise to find that a lot of the musicians that comprised its ritzy orchestral ranks did not, turning instead to cliques and gossip as if they were still high schoolers.</p><p>That was how he came to learn about Laurent deVere.</p><p>His last name hinted at something regal, an echo of the state in which Damen now resided. But despite what he may have heard, he’d never once interacted with the man. In fact, very few actually had. His noxious attitude and prickly personality were well known among the musicians and staff. There were even whispers that he’d only gotten an offer to join the orchestra because Daddy was a big proprietor of the arts in Arles.</p><p>Whatever the case may be, Damen didn’t plan on getting involved in any of it.</p><p>He clocked in on late afternoons, set up his work station, and allowed the orchestra’s collective rehearsals to carry him off to another world. When none of them were running their mouths, they sounded pretty angelic, and they had a big performance coming up in the next two weeks.</p><p>In spite of Damen’s wish to remain a wallflower for a majority of his time while working at the theater, trouble still managed to find him all the same. It all started with the audition and selection of a soloist for their final piece of that upcoming performance.</p><p>As soon as the theater’s concertmaster from the orchestra committee had spoken his choice, all hell broke loose.</p><p>“This is bullshit!” A tawny youth clutching an oboe shot up in his seat and slapped the sheet music off of his stand. “You’re only picking him because his family owns a share of this theater!”</p><p>The accusation came out sharp and cruel, and while no other musician expressed their direct support of his claim out loud, there were a few bobbing heads in the aisles lining the stage.</p><p>“Aimeric, please!” The conductor, Damen thought his name was Jord, looked beseechingly at the young man still hurling insults at the orchestra committee, which was comprised of five older men that Damen barely recognized because they so rarely made an appearance save to select the order of the performance and those who would be the soloists for any given piece.</p><p>“No,” Aimeric shouted, stomping his foot rather childishly. “I didn’t spend years busting my ass to get here just so he can ride a wave of nepotism to be first chair! Perhaps I’d get a chance, too, if my father was filthy rich.”</p><p>“Perhaps you’d get your chance if you were <em>actually</em> a skilled musician,” a cool, calm voice cut through the rant. Damen took a moment to stare at the man next to Aimeric, fair and golden haired. He had just finished his rendition of the oboe solo for the committee to debate on and was definitely more deserving of it if they were choosing solely on musicality.</p><p>The way the other oboist complained about him, that had to be Laurent deVere.</p><p>“The only instrument you know how to play is your mouth,” he went on acridly, eyeing both Aimeric and the conductor with a look that said he knew more than he was letting on.</p><p>The young man who’d previously been raving at him on stage was suddenly shocked silent, a hot pink flush working its way up his neck. “Laurent, y-you-” he sputtered indignantly.</p><p>“Enough,” the conductor slammed his baton down onto his podium. “Take a fifteen minute break, all of you!”</p><p>Everyone pretended not to notice the way the conductor rushed after the angry wanna-be soloist as he stalked off behind the heavy stage curtains, instrument still in hand.</p><p>Oh, Damen thought, there was definitely something more going on there.</p><p>It took a few minutes, but some of the bolder violinists in the front broke the tense silence and chatted on as though that little scene hadn’t just happened. No one moved to offer their sympathies to the newly elected soloist, Laurent, even though he hadn’t deserved such a hostile display from his second chair.</p><p>Damen even caught a few musicians in the brass section behind Laurent glaring at the back of his head for the inappropriate implications he’d made about their conductor. It was kind of amusing how little he seemed to be affected by their dismissals and distaste.</p><p>Once the conductor returned, that disruptive oboist strangely nowhere to be seen, the rest of the orchestra’s rehearsal continued on without further interruption.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Whatever sway Aimeric, Damen couldn’t seem to forget his name after the stunt he’d pulled, had was enough to make the orchestra’s remaining rehearsals unpleasant for Laurent. Twice now his sheet music had been misplaced, one of the legs on his chair had broken the night before, and today he’d been unceremoniously beaned in the back of the head by the bassoonist seated directly behind him. It was an accident, she’d claimed, her stand was falling and wouldn’t that have hurt so much more than a little tap from a fellow woodwind?</p><p>Laurent hadn’t risen to the bait, but when their first break came, he excused himself from his seat.</p><p>Taking the opportunity to find another power adapter because the one by his right foot had just shorted out, Damen headed backstage. He was about the step behind the heavy red curtain partitioning the stage proper when he overheard someone say something so crass, he almost wished he’d waited till rehearsal was over.</p><p>“I heard he fucked the head of the theater. That’s how he got in here.”</p><p>“Paschal’s too old to get it up,” someone jeered.</p><p>“And too wrinkly,” another added.</p><p>“Yeah, well, I heard he’s so nasty that he even fucked his own father for the referral.”</p><p>The accusations were completely baseless, but harmful. Damen didn’t need to know who those musicians were referring to; it was clear there could only be one person everyone had some kind of grudge against.</p><p>He bit his tongue and kept walking. Whatever was being said wasn’t about him and therefore it wasn’t his problem.</p><p>Damen went to the general maintenance closet, grabbed what he needed, and made it back to his light board before the rehearsal resumed.</p><p>But shortly after the break ended, he realized that Laurent hadn’t returned to his chair, and Damen couldn’t help but wonder what other horrible things might have been said about Laurent that he hadn’t heard.</p><p>Why hadn’t anyone put a stop to that shit? Why hadn’t he? If his best friend, Nikandros, had been there, he would have chided Damen for trying to have the decency to care about a stranger like Laurent in the first place. It was his supposed bleeding heart that had been his downfall back in Ios, he reminded himself. He didn’t need another explosive blonde to ruin the life he was trying to make for himself here in Vere.</p><p>The conductor commented on Laurent’s absence briefly, but no one said anything else as to his whereabouts nor did they look like they cared. Instead, the orchestra went on practicing like he’d never been there at all, like his entire lack of presence wasn’t even worth acknowledging.</p><p>Once the rehearsal finished for the night, Damen collected the damaged adapter and made his way to the dumpster out back. To get there, he had to walk by some of the private practice rooms located near the rear of the theater.</p><p>He would have thought they’d all be empty at this hour, but there was a light on in one of the last rooms. Approaching brazenly, Damen figured it was because it had been left on by someone forgetting to flick off the light switch on their way out.</p><p>When he got close enough, he heard it.</p><p>Professional practice rooms were designed to be nearly soundproof so that a musician could focus on their performance without being disturbed. The faint sound of someone playing slipped through the door, and Damen found he couldn’t look away. Behind the glass, he could make out a head of bright blonde hair.</p><p>It could only be one person.</p><p>He confirmed his suspicions as he walked past the door and saw Laurent practicing, eyes closed with his fingers moving deftly over keys. He was beautiful, graceful, almost ethereal up close. Like this, Laurent looked soft in a way that Damen felt didn’t match what he’d heard of the man. And if what his fellow musicians had said was true, his beauty was not in line with his depravities either.</p><p>Pulling away from the door, Damen continued on his way outside the theater toward the dumpster to pitch the fried adapter. He stood in the cool night air debating with himself whether or not to approach Laurent on his way back in. Should he tell him that practice had ended and everyone had gone home? That he should hurry up and leave too or else the custodian might lock the place up with him inside it? He’d done that once before to Damen and boy, had that been a ton of fun, only not. Mussing up the front of his hair with a sigh, Damen made up his mind.</p><p>He turned back toward the theater's rear door. He was going to do it. What was the worst that could happen? Maybe Laurent would even appreciate the gesture because it was obvious to Damen that the poor guy needed a friend.</p><p>What he didn’t expect was to swing the rear exit open and crash right into someone walking out as he was walking in. Damen barely budged, he was so bulky, but the person he’d run into wasn’t as fortunate.</p><p>There was a loud clacking sound, like wood on metal, that echoed in the dimly lit hallway as something fell to the floor. It took Damen a minute to figure out who he’d run into, and when he realized what the metallic sounds were, too, his stomach dropped. He’d just knocked down the one person he was going to see, and not only that, he’d slammed into him with such force that Laurent’s instrument case had come undone and spilled its contents all over the tile floor, the hard and unforgiving tile floor.</p><p>His racing thoughts about the exorbitant repair cost of a professional grade instrument fled his mind when he registered someone talking.</p><p>“Ow,” Laurent said, his voice barely above a whisper.</p><p>“A-are you okay?” Damen stumbled over the words awkwardly as he scrambled to help gather up everything that had fallen out at both their feet. It was clumsy, he was panicked, and Laurent was staring at him with such intensity that he could hardly breathe. He might even have had the decency to feel embarrassed at his behavior if his stupid foot hadn’t chosen that exact moment to step on something fragile sounding, whatever it was cracking under his weight.</p><p>Now that got a different reaction out of Laurent. The smaller man lunged forward and shoved him, with surprising strength, back into the theater’s rear door.</p><p>“Stop it! That’s a $9,000 instrument, you asshole!” The retort came out hissed with the venom of a snake. It was not something he’d ever have imagined Laurent’s pretty lips capable of saying. Honestly though, he shouldn’t have been surprised remembering how he’d torn into his fellow oboist the week before.</p><p>“I- I’ll fix it. Whatever it costs, I’ll pay to have it fixed,” Damen offered, the words out of his mouth before he could even begin to fathom where he’d get that kind of money from. He was back on his feet in a heartbeat, and Laurent ignored him in favor of haphazardly stuffing the scattered parts of his oboe back into its carrying case.</p><p>“You’ve done enough already,” he replied unkindly. “I don’t need nor do I want your help.”</p><p>Satisfied that everything was back in his instrument case, Laurent shoved past Damen and stormed out through the theater’s rear exit.</p><p>And that was how Damen officially met Laurent deVere.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
There was one week left before the orchestra’s big performance, and Damen distinctly noted a lack thereof of the Arleon Philharmonic Orchestra’s most controversial soloist. No one else seemed willing to address it, and the conductor hadn’t commented on Laurent's sudden disappearance since the first time he’d  failed to show up. The oboe solo was then unofficially relegated to Aimeric instead, who seemed entirely too pleased to receive it.</p><p>Days blended, one into another and every night before and after the orchestra’s rehearsals, Damen would catch himself skulking around the theater’s practice rooms, looking for Laurent. He never managed to run into him again, literally or figuratively, if he ever did bother showing up. With each passing day, Damen felt distinctly more and more guilty that he may have been the reason for Laurent’s continued absence.</p><p>The day after the incident, he’d looked online for the estimated cost of repairing a professional grade instrument, but every single site he’d found only offered quotes if you brought the damn thing in. Without someone appraising it, Damen had no idea how much damage he’d caused, but he was absolutely determined to keep his word even if it meant he’d have to pick up a third part-time job just to do it.</p><p>Fortunately, or unfortunately, he never got the chance to speak with Laurent until the night of the actual concert.</p><p>Damen was back at his workstation, putting the finishing touches on the lighting so as not to blind upper balcony guests, before the orchestra began making its way on stage. They filed out in an orderly fashion, front to back, and a sigh of relief escaped Damen when he caught sight of a familiar blonde head trailing behind a rather irritated looking Aimeric.</p><p>It served the other musician right, Damen caught himself thinking. Everytime the other oboist had played the solo piece he’d fought Laurent over, Damen hadn’t felt nearly as moved by his performance as he had Laurent’s. There was something about the way they each carried themselves in their music, and while both were technically equal in skill, they differed in their execution. It was with an unexpected sentimentality that Laurent approached his interpretation of the piece.</p><p>This orchestra’s second chair never stood a chance.</p><p>They sat down, civilly, opting to ignore one another as they awaited the arrival of the concertmaster to step out and tune them.</p><p>After the general public had filed in and taken their seats, Damen received his cue. He hurriedly flipped various switches and dimmed the lights in the theater as the audience clapped in anticipation of the performance starting. Once the concertmaster appeared and received his applause, he turned to the orchestra to begin tuning them, section by section, and then finally as a whole. Their instrument’s voices rang out in the theater, reverberating just right off of the acoustic panels embedded expertly along the walls.</p><p>Pleased with their overall sound, the concertmaster took his seat among the other musicians as they waited for the arrival of their conductor.</p><p>Jord, looking resplendent in a long tailed tuxedo that evening, stepped on stage and graciously received his own applause before gesturing to his orchestra, who also shared in the excitement by politely bringing their hands together in a golf clap along with the audience. After he’d completed the customary handshake with his concertmaster for tuning them, the conductor turned his attention back to the orchestra and raised his baton.</p><p>Like a well-oiled machine, the Arleon Philharmonic Orchestra flawlessly transitioned from one piece into the next, only pausing in between arrangements to reposition furniture and reorganize players. It was a beautiful performance, and Damen found himself nearly moved to tears along with the audience when Laurent’s solo began, signifying the final piece.</p><p>He played beautifully, solemn, and magnificent, each note rich and full as the melody of the music rose and fell with the register of his notes. Gently, the strings plucked their parts to support him, and Laurent transferred the piece’s main melody to the violas.</p><p>All too soon, the performance ended, and Damen was turning the lights back up for the audience to finish their final applause and see themselves out of the theater. It took a while before everyone was gone; the orchestra often tended to stick around longer out of courtesy and to congratulate one another on their performances. Damen was also expected to stay behind due to the extensive clean up of his light board and the seats surrounding it. He didn’t mind, though, as it gave him hope that he might yet get his chance at a formal apology to Laurent.</p><p>But it was more than that now; Damen found himself wanting to congratulate Laurent for such a fine performance tonight because if Laurent hadn’t shown up, oboe miraculously in one piece, Damen would have felt horrible for ruining his moment, his solo, the one chance to prove that he was a better musician than half of his cohorts believed him to be.</p><p>Ater tonight, there could be no question about whether or not Laurent deserved to be a part of the Arleon Philharmonic Orchestra, any and all toxic rumors about him be damned.</p><p>Thankfully, Damen didn’t have to wait too long. Laurent had opted to take the rear exit just as he’d done the time before. Damen had finished all of his work duties only a few minutes prior and was waiting for him at the end of the ramp leading to the rear parking lot where staff and performers left their vehicles.</p><p>It was obvious that Laurent recognized him by sight based on the way he stopped and tensed when their eyes met. Damen took it in stride; he was too big and bulky to ever pretend to be someone else. The blue of Lauent’s eyes was darker at night under the streetlights, and he gazed at Damen warily like a wild animal ready to escape.</p><p>“Hey,” Damen called out, taking a hand out of his pocket in a slow, friendly wave.</p><p>Laurent didn’t respond, but he also didn’t run. That was something, maybe. Damen made sure to not to make any sudden moves.</p><p>“I just wanted to say sorry, again, about your instrument. I’m really glad nothing was broken though, but if it was, I meant what I said about paying to fix it. It’s great you were able to come back and play tonight. I don’t know if anyone’s come out and told you yet, but I think you were amazing. You play beautifully.” Damen bit his bottom lip when he realized he was rambling. He’d gone on talking for far too long without waiting for a reply back.</p><p>“You’re wrong,” Laurent’s voice floated by on the evening breeze.</p><p>“What? But you-”</p><p>“Not that, it <em>was</em> broken. Why do you think I missed so many damn rehearsals?” He tipped his head back and watched Damen with some kind of predatory gaze, like he was evaluating just what to say to get the reaction he wanted. </p><p>Damen swore under his breath and dug his hands back into his coat pockets. It would appear that tomorrow he really was going to have to start looking for that third part-time job if he ever expected to pay Laurent back for the damage he’d caused.</p><p>“How much?”</p><p>Laurent readjusted his grip on his carrying case and resumed walking down the ramp. He didn’t stop until he was a few feet in front of Damen, one of his finely shaped eyebrows raised in question, but he didn’t give it a voice.</p><p>“How much do I owe you? For the repairs,” Damen clarified. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be able to hand off a crisp twenty as part of his down payment right now. The rest would have to come later, much, much later, and likely in installments.</p><p>Vere was so God damn expensive.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” Laurent told him off-hand. “It’s already been taken care of.”</p><p>Then he was side-stepping Damen and making his way out to the parking lot where there were only a handful of cars left. Damen’s hand closing around his wrist and the word “<em>Wait</em>” were the only things that stopped him in his tracks.</p><p>He didn’t know why he’d done that, wasn’t even sure what had come over him to do it in the first place. Damen barely knew anything about this man beyond what he’d overheard and what he’d been exposed to firsthand the week before. And while Laurent was attractive, very much so, his personality was also very much abrasive. Yet Damen found himself longing to see the other hidden parts of Laurent that must reside underneath what he showed everyone else. There was a tenderness there, something gentle and kind and beautiful beyond words that just had to exist if his musical performances were anything to go by—no one with a cruel heart could play something as sweet and as vulnerable as Laurent had otherwise.</p><p>There was definitely more to Laurent that Damen wanted to see, to understand, and the only way he could do that was by offering whatever little he could to keep their lives intertwined beyond this moment. A debt could work, though it wasn’t ideal, but Damen realized now, looking into Laurent’s beautifully impassive face, that it just might be worth paying for. Maybe friendship would be the better path for them to start out on.</p><p>“Can I at least take you out?”</p><p>Laurent’s brow furrowed slightly at the offer.</p><p>“For… for causing you so much trouble in the first place. Just as friends,” Damen clarified, releasing his grip on Laurent and drawing his hand back.</p><p>It took a minute or two, Laurent clearly weighing the idea of humoring Damen and saying yes or going with his better instincts and telling him to piss off. In the end, it would appear that Laurent’s curiosity won the battle.</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>Laurent finished the walk to his car, pulling out a fob and depositing his very expensive repaired instrument in the trunk and locking it with a click and a beep. When he turned back to gaze at Damen, there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “We can subtract it from your $9,000 tab,” he said.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A special thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixen13/">Vixen13</a> for coming in to beta!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Sweet Ophelia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><b>Title:</b> Sweet Ophelia<br/><b>Prompt:</b> Disguise<br/><b>Series:</b> Captive Prince<br/><b>Summary:</b> Damen has always regretted the fact that he never got to see Laurent in a dress on their first journey to Ios. Lucky for him, Laurent makes a deal that gives them both what they want much to Damen's chagrin.<br/><b>Notes:</b> I'd like to dedicate this chapter, very specifically, to my lovely friend and moonlight beta, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixen13/">Vixen13</a>. Happiest birthday my friend, and I hope you enjoy reading about Damen in a dress!</p>
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    <hr/><p><br/>
A rather portly gentleman sat down next to Damen, and he redirected his gaze in the opposite direction. This was getting old relatively fast. He could only be expected to drum his fingers idly against the hard wood of the tavern table for so long.</p><p>“Well, well,” a hot breath, curdled by cheap mead, exhaled on Damen’s neck. “Yer an ugly lady, but lucky for you, I’m an equally ugly man.” He chuckled at his own joke and brought a finger up to trace along the high-laced neckline of Damen’s pretty pink dress. “I’d still offer to satisfy yer needs fer a night if you’ll take a shiny copper… or two,” he offered, like a commoner’s chump change was enough to buy the company of a king.</p><p>A soft touch fell on Damen’s right shoulder. He’d never been more grateful for Laurent than in that moment, and a finely manicured hand came up to brush the drunkard’s wandering fingers aside.</p><p>“She’s expensive,” a high falsetto voice rang out.</p><p>Damen nearly lost his composure and ruined their act.</p><p>Seeing that his advances had been rebuffed, Damen’s would-be suitor for the night got up and threw his lot in with the tavern’s resident wench. She was already half out of her clothes at this point, nearly all of her buxom chest on display as the loose lacing of her bodice came progressively undone by tugs of groping patrons.</p><p>It sent a shudder down Damen’s spine. Had he never really noticed how women were mistreated before? Was it only because he was the one in a dress this time?</p><p>Granted, it was a very fine dress. Laurent had excellent taste when it came to high fashion, and the disguises he’d managed to conjure up were obviously worth more than any one of the tavern’s other guests could earn in a year. It still didn’t stop him from feeling uncomfortable. Damen felt like a pig trussed in pearls—a ruse prettied up in silk and lace.</p><p>Laurent, on the other hand… Damen took a moment to turn and gaze at his lover. It was clear that this was not Laurent’s first time playing dress-up; he had a beauty and a grace about him that mimicked a woman’s natural femininity almost too perfectly. It probably helped that he was also decked out in equally extravagant blue skirts and silks, his waist transformed by the addition of a corset, and his already delicate features painted as artfully as any fine courtesan’s.</p><p>If not for the strange pitch of his voice, Damen would never have guessed that Laurent wasn’t what he advertised himself to be, a noble woman slumming it with the common folk for a taboo night to indulge her own personal amusements.</p><p>And while he was witnessing everything he’d wanted, Damen couldn’t help but question why he’d agreed to it in the first place.</p><p>He sighed.</p><p> Laurent was <em>very</em> persuasive.<br/>
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</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
It had started innocently enough; they were preparing for bed, and Laurent was throwing him coy looks with eyes burning like the heated tip of a flame.</p><p>Once the oppressive layers of his fine Veretian clothing were discarded to the floor in favor of nudity, Laurent melted himself against Damen’s equally bare body. It had taken a long time for him to grow comfortable in his own skin, but Damen still couldn’t help but marvel at how stunning his husband was, clothed or not.</p><p>He brought appreciative hands up to trace along the velvety smooth planes of Laurent’s body. Despite the scars and lightly defined musculature, Laurent was still one of the finest treasures Damen had ever had the pleasure of receiving. He followed his motions with kisses, nuzzling his nose into Laurent hairline behind his ear and earning a laugh.</p><p>This was normal.</p><p>They did this all the time.</p><p>What Damen did not do all the time was voice his desires for Laurent to do something he might not be willing to give.</p><p>“You’re beautiful, you know that?”</p><p>“So I’ve been told, multiple times,” Laurent smirked, tipping back in Damen’s arms to look him in the eye.</p><p>“And I’ll tell you many more.”</p><p>“I’m sure,” came Laurent’s easy reply, and they leaned in to kiss softly, mouths unhurried.</p><p>“Truly,” Damen said with wonder, his fingertips still dancing along Laurent’s sides and traversing the splay of his hips, “you are the most attractive partner I have ever had the joy of sharing pleasure with.”</p><p>“Oh?” A fine blonde eyebrow quirked. “Do tell. I thought you preferred women?”</p><p>“I did. I might still if you could be goaded into putting on that pretty blue dress Charls gave you back when we were-”</p><p>Laurent’s finger came to rest lightly on Damen’s lips, a spark of something mischievous igniting beneath his already heated gaze. He leaned in again, the wicked curve of his smile sharpening as he closed the space between them.</p><p>“I <em>might</em> be persuaded to wear it again if…”</p><p>Damen’s breath caught in his throat. “If?” he repeated.</p><p>And then Laurent’s lips were on his ear, whispering wicked thoughts that had Damen groaning as the fantasy was laid out before him.<br/>
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</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
Damen sighed again.</p><p>He really needed to stop agreeing to things whilst in the throes of passion. Laurent knew that was his weakness and, much too often for Damen’s liking, took advantage of it.</p><p>Jumping at the unexpected caress of a bold hand that had made itself at home on his thigh, Damen was pulled from his thoughts.</p><p>“You look lonely, my dear.” Another gentleman, this one with a hook nose and yellowed teeth, smiled at him. Despite the indignation that was likely clear as day on Damen’s face, his calloused hand continued to slide higher. Damen was faintly aware of a soft creaking, the stitches of his clothes pulling taut as he flexed his muscles, ready for a fight.</p><p>His fingers were already tightened into a hard fist, about to punch the other man out, when Laurent flitted back to his side.</p><p>That porcelain hand was back again, the only guardian of Damen’s virtue in this seedy inn.</p><p>Perfect timing.</p><p>“Sir, you’re insatiable I’m afraid,” Laurent jested in his high voice. He and the suitor shared a feigned light laugh, but when his eyes turned back to Damen, they were completely serious. It would seem that their game was finally coming to an end.</p><p>“Sweet Ophelia, are you tired?”</p><p>Damen saw it for what it was, an out.</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“Too much wine?” Laurent offered.</p><p>Damen nodded again, not having spoken once since they stepped out in their new clothes. There was no way he could have ever changed the register of his voice to suit his appearance. It was already bad enough that he made such an ugly woman even low-born peasants felt compelled to offer him their attention out of some sort of misguided pity. He wanted to be back in his room and out of this dress immediately.</p><p>Trailing his fingers faintly over the stranger’s shoulder in a placating gesture, Laurent slipped his free hand into Damen’s and helped him stand. To complete their little charade, they’d also had to procure women’s shoes. Their dresses were long, but should they ride up accidently… Damen was sick of them; they were just another one of many unpleasant constraints placed unfairly on women.</p><p>When they finally made it up the inn’s stairs to their room at the end of the hall, Damen was already tugging his wig off before the door was closed. Laurent shut it soundly behind them and burst out laughing, his real voice beginning to come through and filling the air.</p><p>Damen took it as an opportunity to turn around and pitch the false hair piece right at Laurent’s face. He handled the insult with ease, it was only a little horse hair styled in curls after all, and reached up to begin undoing his own hair. Laurent had been growing it out for the past two years, and it came to rest a few inches below his shoulders now. He’d plaited it in a braid for tonight’s little excursion, and though his hair was always lovely, Damen preferred it loose.</p><p>“You were right, you know.” Laurent’s laughter was slowly dying down. “You make an absolutely dreadful woman.”</p><p>Damen grunted and started tearing at the intricate laces running up the length of his forearms.</p><p>“I never said I wouldn’t,” he groused, tearing one of the delicate eyelets when he lost control of his frustration. “This was all <em>your</em> idea.”</p><p>“Fair is fair, lover,” Laurent simpered as he walked over, looking very much like a cat who’d gotten the court canary. “Here, allow me.” He reached up both of his hands to begin working on the ties Damen had mangled. Rarely did Laurent ever attend to Damen like this.</p><p>It was nice, but Damen sighed, at what cost?</p><p>Veretian women’s clothing had more complex lacing than men’s. It was a wonder Laurent even knew how to do them up in the first place, but untangling them after a night out was even more complicated. He managed though, despite it taking nearly a half hour to get Damen fully out of the dress.</p><p>The corset was another issue altogether, and when Laurent had first presented it to him, he’d nearly called the whole deal off.</p><p>“<em>Damianos, you are not fighting me on this</em>,” Laurent had told him. The tone of his voice allowed for no argument. “<em>There is no way you</em> won’t <em>look like a man in a dress without one. You’re too… rigid</em>.”</p><p>Knowing that Laurent would be wearing one as well to add soft curves to the straight lines of his own figure was the only thing that had gotten Damen to permit it. Lacing it up and tightening the grommets had been more than unpleasant, painful even, and Damen was looking forward to the moment he could breathe deeply from his belly once more.</p><p>“How do women wear these day in and day out,” Damen marveled as Laurent began plucking at the back of his oversized corset. Thank wealthy society for catering to big women.</p><p>Laurent hummed lightly, undoing each row one at a time. “Pain is beauty,” he remarked off-hand, eyes narrowed in concentration. When he was finished, he helped slide the stiff paneling of the corset, whale bones and all, over Damen’s head.</p><p>“Why do you think Vannes is in such a horrid mood all of the time?”</p><p>“I might have an idea,” Damen exhaled, lungs finally capable of expanding fully against his diaphragm. Looking down, he could see faint lines where the corset's boning had dug deep into his skin. He hoped he hadn't laced Laurent too tightly. “These things are modern torture devices. I feel blessed having been born a man.”</p><p>“Mm,” Laurent agreed, turning his ministrations toward himself now that he was done with Damen. He got one lace undone before Damen was pulling his hand away and rotating Laurent’s wrist at a better angle for him to access the thin white ties keeping Laurent’s skin from sight.</p><p>“Allow me,” Damen whispered, his fingers settling in a rhythm familiar to their real lives. It had been years since anyone else had attended Laurent now that they were together. He took pride in knowing that he was the only one entrusted to see him vulnerable like this.</p><p>Damen took his time; it was different now that he was out of clothes. He felt freer, more like himself.</p><p>When the last lace was undone, and they could finally slip the pale blue dress over Laurent’s head, it almost felt like Damen’s birthday. That was the last time he’d unwrapped so fine a present. Out of his women’s clothing, he was reminded that Laurent was still wearing a corset, something he’d conceded to ensure Damen would allow himself to be laced up in his own. The picture he presented wearing only it and his usual underthings was exquisite.</p><p>Damen ran his fingertips down the thick boning that pressed in and transformed the silhouette of Laurent’s lithe frame. He wasn’t sleek straight lines with this. Instead, his figure took on more of an hourglass appearance, a shape Damen would never have thought he’d see again in his lifetime and certainly not on Laurent.</p><p>Humming appreciatively, he traced the stiff fabric of the corset back up to where it ended, just below where a woman’s plentiful bust should have been. What greeted him was a flat chest, though no less appealing with its offering of pert pink nipples hardening under his gaze. Damen tightened his hold on Laurent’s sides and brushed the pads of his thumbs along them, biting back a groan at the airy breath it earned him before leaning down to suck a red mark into the slope of Laurent’s neck, right in the place where Damen knew he liked it best.</p><p>He didn’t have to say anything; they’d been doing this for years and both knew precisely what the other wanted intuitively. Laurent tilted his head back and relaxed into Damen’s hands, trusting him to support Laurent's weight as he hiked his long, lean legs up around Damen’s thick waist. Their lips met, more teeth than tongue, and Damen allowed his fingers to slide down the length of Laurent’s back to rest carefully under the swell of his ass.</p><p>Kneading the flesh there gently in his hands earned him a laugh.</p><p>“My, you’re amorous tonight,” Laurent murmured. He ground down experimentally and gasped at what he found. “Perhaps more so than usual.”</p><p>“If I am, then I have only the sight before me to thank for it,” Damen said, turning and walking them over to the bed that was waiting by the window.</p><p>“Are you a pervert now, Damianos?”</p><p>Another kiss.</p><p>“I think, maybe, we both are.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy Birthday <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixen13/">Vixen13</a> and thank you the beta!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. There, There</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><b>Title:</b> There, There<br/><b>Prompt:</b> Wounds<br/><b>Rating:</b> PG<br/><b>Summary:</b> Damen and Laurent individually reflect on how their partner’s traumas are portrayed at different times of the day. Where Laurent’s are emotional at night, Damen’s are physical during the day.<br/><b>Note:</b> When I say <i>hurt no comfort</i> and <i>hurt me plenty</i> in the tags, I mean it. Proceed with caution if you can’t handle angst, intense feelings of helplessness, or strong self-loathing.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <b><br/>
NIGHT.</b>
</p><p>When he woke up, he didn’t know what time it was. Damen’s immediate confusion took a minute to clear as his thoughts were often foggy when startled out of a sound sleep. His eyes were unfocused, barely registering anything in the dark that surrounded him. It was only the pitiful whimper coming from the left of him that allowed awareness to return—it was Laurent, it was always Laurent, it had to be.</p><p>Damen shifted the covers back, slowly, carefully, and sat up to stare at the quivering mass of blankets next to him. It was dark outside, and the moon was still up.</p><p>They’d gone to bed late tonight, much later than usual. This evening had been one of the rarer moments when they’d managed to tumble into bed together, smiles between their kisses and legs intertwined beneath the sheets. They’d talked about it briefly beforehand, and general consensus had been that there would be no regrets. Once they were both spent and the tension dissipated, Damen had thought they might finally be granted a well-deserved reprieve from the usual torments of their everyday lives.</p><p>But such was never the case with Laurent, whose dreams were often not in alignment with what it was he deserved.</p><p>Just the month before, Damen recalled waking up to Laurent screaming in the middle of the night. He’d come to bed sometime after Damen, a late-night summons from Vannes to discuss Vaskian demands that needed to be addressed urgently had kept him up well past midnight.</p><p>Damen hadn’t heard him enter, which was typical as he was a heavy sleeper, something Laurent teased him about endlessly. Whatever sleep he did manage to find after crawling into the bed hadn’t lasted long before something took hold of him.</p><p>Night terrors—Paschal called them—dreams that went beyond nightmares and trapped their victims in a place they could not escape.</p><p>Damen hadn’t known you weren’t supposed to force them awake.</p><p>He’d shared quarters with Laurent long enough to overcome most of his initial trepidation when handling Laurent’s usual nightmares, but this one had been a horse of a different color. Laurent had just returned from a compulsory visit to Arles, Damen having taken the same time to stop and tour Ios. Their kingdoms may have been combined, but their people still needed to see them in their previously respective capitals from time to time if the merging of their nations was ever going to be successful.</p><p>It had been months since they’d visited their childhood homes alone, and Damen had thought nothing of their trips then. He should have known better, should have realized how deeply Laurent was still affected by all of the things that happened to him back when he was a boy.</p><p>The night Laurent had come home to Marlas, their new residence, that particular episode had horrified Damen. He’d done what he thought was right at the time; he’d leaned over and shaken his lover awake. It was the wrong thing to do. Laurent was still caught in the throes of whatever had him, and the scream he’d let out when Damen’s hands tried to gather him close was something that he’d never forget, something he never wanted to hear directed at him again.</p><p>Laurent had gotten violent, swinging blindly at an attacker that was not there.</p><p>He’d screamed.</p><p>He’d cried.</p><p>Damen had to shout for a guard to fetch Paschal. The elderly physician came as quickly as he could, and still, Laurent was shivering from fear in the bed. He had not allowed Damen to return to it without lashing out, and Damen wisely kept his distance for both their safety.</p><p>Once he’d arrived, it only took a moment for Paschal to evaluate Laurent. Then both he and Damen were restraining the young king to force a draught down his throat that might ease him into a dreamless slumber. The next morning, Laurent didn’t seem to recall the scratch marks and bruises he’d left on Damen during the incident, but something in him must have unconsciously remembered what happened. He’d fought sleep for days afterward and refused to talk about it no matter how much Damen had pressed him for answers.</p><p>It was only when exhaustion finally overwhelmed him that Laurent found his way back into their bed.</p><p>When asked for counsel the following day, Paschal told Damen that these occurrences had been incredibly common when Laurent was younger, though he’d thought his liege had grown out of them many years before as he’d not been called to address one in ages. But instead of assuaging Damen’s concerns, that statement had only made him feel worse.</p><p>How many nights had Laurent suffered from these? How long had the episodes persisted with no one aware to address them? How could Damen have allowed Laurent to <em>hurt</em> alone for so long?</p><p>He did not voice those questions, merely nodding at Paschal’s insistence not to wake Laurent again; night terror or nightmare, it didn't matter. Doing so, he’d warned, might trigger even more volatile episodes later.</p><p>Asking what could be done to prevent such terrors from troubling Laurent in the future, Paschal’s answers had felt lacking somehow. Adequate rest, less stress, a safe environment, following a schedule, all of these things he’d suggested, but none of them were really possible when both he and Laurent were kings bound to answer the beck and call of their fledgling empire.</p><p>Damen had left the infirmary that day with an even heavier heart than when he’d entered.</p><p>And if it were not the constant stressors of ruling a kingdom that caused Laurent’s restlessness, there were countless other culprits to choose from.</p><p>Damen had been made explicitly aware that Laurent was abused as a child. His horrible uncle had dropped plenty of hints while still living and just thinking about the man set Damen’s blood to boiling. The Regent’s effects echoed even now in the trepidation Laurent sometimes exhibited when they touched. It tainted the beauty of what they had, and that alone aggravated Damen to no end.</p><p>Physical intimacy had never been something Damen shied away from, so there were times when he accidentally crossed unseen lines that had Laurent pleading with him to stop, telling him to leave. Those nights, if Laurent suffered from lesser terrors, the more banal nightmares, it was often understood just what they entailed.</p><p>It was painful for Damen to admit he could do nothing to heal those wounds so deep under Laurent’s skin, buried in his heart and left to rot after years of negligence. Damen would have treated Laurent kindly if only he had been allowed to meet him under a different set of circumstances.</p><p>Emotional disturbances were not as easily remedied as a cut to the skin, and Damen knew that there would be many more sleepless nights in their lifetime, many more nights when he was made to feel helpless witnessing Laurent’s unspoken agony.</p><p>The body hidden beneath the blankets began to shake again, and Damen heard the quiet hiccups of breath that signified Laurent was straining for air.</p><p>His fingers ached to bridge the distance between them, stroke gently along that face he loved so much and offer a solace he wished Laurent could know. It was so hard to keep his hands fisted in the sheets instead of reaching for his lover who, by now, had finally started crying in his sleep.</p><p>Soft pleas of “<em>No</em>” and “<em>Stop</em>” were barely intelligible as they seeped past Laurent’s trembling lips, and Damen had to look away before the wetness in his own eyes threatened to spill over, too.<br/>
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</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b><br/>
DAY.</b>
</p><p>Laurent always woke up first whether the sun was shining or not. Damen had only ever beaten him on a handful of occasions, but it wasn’t as though this was a competitive sport between them.</p><p>He’d been sure to warn Damianos that his nights were usually restless, his sleep often troubled before they finalized their sleeping arrangements at Marlas. It was still a wonder then that the other had insisted even more vehemently they share a bed. “<em>It is the way things are done in Akielos</em>,” he’d asserted. Couples did not sleep alone. Akielon gods did not look kindly on those sorts of unions, and Laurent hadn’t found it in himself to argue.</p><p>A typical, routine day involved Laurent exiting the bed and dressing on his own. Very rarely did he ever allow himself the pleasure of a lazy morning to linger alongside Damen and watch him sleep. Today was one such morning, and after the night he’d had, Laurent was more than content to squander another few minutes mindlessly tracing along the muscles of Damen’s forearm.</p><p>His lover could sleep through raging thunder storms, had done so many times before, and rarely ever stirred under Laurent’s careful ministrations. It had started off as a game, innocently enough, something Laurent enjoyed playing just to see what he could get away with before Damen woke up.</p><p>He still enjoyed it, even now, despite knowing exactly what it took to rouse him. Pinching off Damen’s nose or plucking a hair from his chest were just a few of the more creative ways he’d found over their months spent together.</p><p>This morning, though, Damen was turned on his side, facing Laurent. His features were remarkably impassive; sleep being the only thing that tempered his otherwise overly expressive features. There were small traces of darkness lining the bottom of his eyes, almost as though he hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night before, but Laurent knew they had retired early, much earlier than they usually did these days. And while his own sleep habits were nothing to be proud of, he’d never wish them on anyone else. Something akin to pity settled near his heart, making it harder to enjoy touch.</p><p>Time to get up.</p><p>Laurent slowly retracted his hand and moved to leave the bed when Damen, unexpectedly, rolled over. A resounding gasp filled the empty air, and Laurent felt a tightness pervade his chest.</p><p>In the rays of the early morning sun, there was no denying the sight that greeted him from the skin of Damen’s back.</p><p>He hated that the most, to be reminded.</p><p>Not all of Damen’s scars had gotten worse since they’d been inflicted, at least not in appearance. In fact, some of the smaller ones had even faded with time, and any individual not privy to the more intimate details of Laurent and Damen’s first weeks together wouldn't even know there had been a hundred lashes ordered to kiss his then unblemished flesh.</p><p>But Laurent knew, and that made all the difference.</p><p>Due to the nature of their harried journey from Arles to Ios, Damen had been forced to sacrifice caring for himself as well as a king would have been expected to. Sunlight had darkened a couple of the deeper ones where his skin had failed and burst when pushed to the limits of its resilience.</p><p>Those bigger, more prominent scars were ugly, gnarled, and twisted things. Keloids they were called, or so Laurent had read in one of Paschal’s books on medicine. They were caused by an overgrowth of scar tissue that sometimes occurred in response to a traumatic injury, and Damen’s injuries had been <em> very </em> traumatic. Laurent had personally made sure of that.</p><p>In fact, in one rare moment of extreme vulnerability, Damen admitted that his bath water had bled red for weeks afterward back in Vere. Laurent couldn’t even begin to fathom the hurt he had caused.</p><p>It was easier to not think about it.</p><p>But when presented with the obvious evidence of his sins in the light of day, Laurent could almost remember how he felt back then as he watched Damen’s face contort in unspeakable agony. Crack after crack from the whip of the soldier who’d been ordered to flay Damen alive echoed at the edge of his memories, and with a sick perversion that he thought he’d outrun, Laurent recalled strongest of all that he had enjoyed it.</p><p>Damen had done something unforgivable to Laurent back when he was only Prince Damianos of Akielos, Prince Killer. He’d repeated that to himself over and over again with the fall of each lash, that the pain he was inflicting could never amount to the anguish Laurent had been forced to endure losing Auguste.</p><p>Every one of that hateful barbarian’s screams was merely a drop in the bucket of misery Laurent had undergone at Damen’s own hands and those of his uncle’s. If it were not for his stroke of luck in besting Auguste on the field that day, Laurent’s life would have been markedly different.</p><p>He might have known love and happiness sooner rather than pain and suffering.</p><p>But now, reflecting on what had been done and what could not be undone, he felt only shame and anger at those assumptions. What Laurent had lost had been given back to him by the same hands of the man he’d nearly whipped to death. While he could never return Auguste, Damen offered Laurent other things: solace, love, a home.</p><p>He was a tangible future, something Laurent had never thought he’d live to see let alone experience.</p><p>And yet, instead of treasuring him, Laurent had abused him, hurt him irreparably.</p><p>Damen never said anything out loud, but Laurent knew; he was nothing if not clever. Those scars were more than just unsightly. Sometimes, they hurt Damen. Laurent could see it in the way he grew stiff after a long hard day of sword practice, in the way he would linger in the baths long after he was clean, but worst of all, he was aware of it because he’d witnessed first-hand how sensitive they were. Whenever he traced his hands along them, Damen would squirm, occasionally even hiss as the frayed endings of his nerves were stroked. It didn’t matter how light Laurent kept his touch.</p><p>Once, during a particularly intense moment of passion, Laurent had thoughtlessly dragged his nails down the entire length of Damen’s back and brought the man to tears.</p><p>It was not easy living with the knowledge that he was the cause of his lover’s constant discomfort, and Paschal’s many books on medicine did nothing to provide any sort of hopeful insight. Most people who survived a lashing such as Damen’s never fully recovered; Damen was already an outlier in this regard.</p><p>Still, it had been disheartening to read that whatever pain he was experiencing now would likely only worsen with age, and they had promised to be together for the remainder of their lives. Forever was a long time, and sometimes, Laurent didn’t think he could keep that promise.</p><p>He didn’t feel he deserved someone like Damianos. And despite being forgiven, numerous times over, there would always be an ever-present sense of wrongness, like he wasn’t worthy of this happiness, not after all of the horrible things he’d done.</p><p>Gripping his hands into the sheets, Laurent turned away and tried to ignore the ache in his heart.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixen13/">Vixen13</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheekysstyles">cheekystyles</a> took one for the team to beta this so that no one else had to get hurt. 😭 Thanks girls!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 緣份 (Yuánfèn)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><b>Title:</b> 緣份 (Yuánfèn)<br/><b>Prompt:</b> Soulmates!AU<br/><b>Rating:</b> G<br/><b>Summary:</b> As a boy, Laurent hated his daemon's flagrant honesty. A bared soul is a scary thing to show the world. Now, as a man grown, he is thankful it led him to Damen.<br/><b>Note:</b> Title comes from the Chinese proverb: 有緣無份 (yǒu yuán wú fèn), which translates to “have fate without destiny”. 緣份 (yuánfèn) by itself refers only to the fate between two people.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p><br/>
Laurent was awoken by the sound of Auguste’s daemon, <a href="https://eirikurjonsson.is/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/smyrill.png">a speckled brown merlin</a> named Cosette, as she landed on his bedside table. She readjusted her wings, stretching them out before letting them flatten against her sides.</p><p>“It’s time to get up,” she said in a neutral tone.</p><p>Yawning while sitting up, Laurent took note of his own daemon’s form this morning. Amorian was, as yet, unsettled. It was kind of embarrassing, what with Laurent being fourteen now and very nearly an adult, but Auguste and Cosette had reassured him, time and again, that this just meant he was a late bloomer, nothing more. Still, he felt ashamed because everyone in Arles knew that Auguste’s daemon had settled when he was twelve.</p><p>Laurent sighed and reached over to run his fingers through the soft auburn fur of Amorian’s new form while he fought off grogginess. Like this, he was the color of a flame with a greyed face housing bleary black eyes. <a href="https://animalogic.ca/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/shutterstock_54861274.jpg">Some kind of monkey</a> then, Laurent figured.</p><p>“A marmoset, that’s rather trite for someone like you.”</p><p>Laurent looked over at the doorway to his bedchamber and caught sight of Auguste. He was dressed in finer clothing than usual.</p><p>So, that’s what this was about.</p><p>“Have they arrived?” Laurent asked, scooping up Amorian and moving to exit his bed. They both shivered when his feet hit the cold stone floor, but neither voiced a complaint.</p><p>“Not yet,” Auguste stepped out of the doorway and snapped his fingers. Two servants, their dog daemons heeling just behind the threshold to silently wait, entered and began opening Laurent’s wardrobe and dressers to compile a selection of his nicest outfits.</p><p>“Something blue,” he heard Auguste direct them. “It brings out the color of his eyes.”</p><p>“Yes, your majesty,” one of the servants replied and hastily put away some of the items they’d taken out.</p><p>Amorian bristled in Laurent’s arms and changed into a <a href="https://i2.wp.com/ideasfornames.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/shutterstock_480675973.jpg">grey tomcat</a>, his hackles raised. Glaring at his older brother, Laurent huffed, “I’m not a child.”</p><p>Cosette took flight from her perch on the bedside table and flew to Auguste’s outstretched hand. Once seated, she turned her astute gaze back on Laurent and spoke on behalf of Auguste. “No one said that you were.”</p><p>Laurent’s daemon hissed at her and hopped out of his arms back onto the bed. The servants, not wanting to overstep their proximity to the prince or his daemon, backed away from him and placed their hands behind themselves.</p><p>“This one,” Amorian said, spinning in agitated circles on a rich silk doublet the color of deep ocean. Golden trim and laces accented the garment, and it was thick enough to provide enough warmth in early fall while still allowing for some air flow if the sun got too hot.</p><p>“Good choice.” Auguste smiled as he transferred Cosette from his hand to his shoulder. “They’ll be here soon, and I don’t want King Theomedes to think we’ve snubbed his son by being late. Today is a very important day, as I’m sure you are aware.”</p><p>“Yes, yes,” Laurent sighed, shooing Amorian off his jacket so that the servants could begin the tedious process of lacing him up. “I know what’s at stake.”</p><p>“Good,” Auguste and Cosette both said at the same time. “We’ll see you outside then,” he went on before turning and leaving Laurent to get dressed.<br/>
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</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
It was another two hours before Prince Damianos and his full retinue arrived. Laurent had felt silly waiting; his brother was a king. No king should be made to wait hand and foot on the follies of some barbarian prince no matter what wars their kingdoms were trying to prevent. At least it was always pleasant to be in Auguste’s company for extended periods of time.</p><p>They’d spent a better part of the morning gossiping over what this Akielon prince looked like, the rumors of his athleticism, and the form they’d been told his daemon had taken. Now, though, the topic had moved onto sports.</p><p>“Jules said they wrestle without clothes on,” Amorian blurted out in the middle of their discussion about Akielon traditions. Laurent felt his ears heat up and glared at Amorian, his current form now that of a <a href="https://i.redd.it/1bqkqhexfjt11.jpg">white-faced marten</a>. He’d been growing restless waiting so long and had taken to running up and down the lengths of Laurent’s sleeves to burn through that unpleasant energy. In some ways, a daemon’s behavior was the truest representation of their owner’s—thus, since Amorian belonged to Laurent, it only cemented the fact that he was still just a child.</p><p>“Amorian,” Laurent hissed, swatting at his daemon who deftly dodged the blow.</p><p>Auguste’s laughter rang clear as a bell, and he shook his head, reaching up to stroke Cosette. It was a pre-emptive action he often did to soothe her into keeping her thoughts to herself.</p><p>“You shouldn’t raise a hand to yourself,” Cosette told him. Auguste said nothing to correct her, but there were traces of humor dancing in his eyes.</p><p>Laurent knew that; he wasn’t stupid.</p><p>He just didn’t care.</p><p>If Amorian was the physical manifestation of Laurent’s soul, then he represented Laurent’s most primitive thoughts and desires laid bare. Auguste’s daemon, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. Cosette was all of Auguste’s impulse control and moral standards packed on display in a single entity. She often spoke frankly, sometimes out of turn, and had no patience for Laurent or Amorian’s childish nonsense.</p><p>“While that is true,” Auguste returned to their previous conversation, his finger lingering on the black tip of Cosette’s beak to keep her silent, “that is for sport and not for <em> other </em> reasons. I would hope your tutor has distinguished between the two of those activities for you by now?”</p><p>“Yes, and both of them sound positively repugnant.” Laurent crossed his arms defiantly across his chest and looked away. The warmth from his ears was slowly spreading across his face, he could feel it. He did not want to have this awkward discussion with Auguste ever again.</p><p>“Someday, it may be something you wish for,” Auguste told him, a hand coming up to rest on the shoulder Amorian was not sitting on. He looked sincere and it made Laurent want to scoff. Amorian already had.</p><p>Thankfully, Laurent was saved from further discourse when a herald on a white horse draped in red and gold came galloping into their courtyard.</p><p>“He comes! Prince Damianos of Akielos has arrived!”</p><p>Auguste removed his hand, and Laurent stood up a little straighter.</p><p>They were finally going to meet the prince.</p><p>“Do you believe what they say?” Amorian whispered in Laurent’s ear. Of course he knew what was meant without asking: was the prince’s daemon really a lion or was it just pure hyperbole?  Would he step out of his carriage holding a tiny kitten instead? Both Amorian and Laurent snickered quietly at the mental image they’d painted and earned themselves a reproachful look from Cosette.</p><p>Auguste ignored all of them and kept his eyes trained on the small party approaching behind the herald. They came to a stop a few meters away from the raised steps of the courtyard dais, and the small collection of Veretian courtiers that gathered for this momentous occasion hushed up and focused their attention on the newest arrivals.</p><p>A servant, clad in the Akielon prince’s livery, a bed sheet really, Laurent thought with some distaste, walked up to the carriage and opened the door. First, came <a href="https://www.iams.com/breedselector/images/7d54de621f68e24a1a59e03cdab8267f.jpg">a dog</a>. It was a large breed, black and gold, made of nothing but compact muscle. The only things that dampened its otherwise menacing appearance were its oversized floppy ears and the fact that it stumbled whilst exiting the carriage. After the dog came a large man, who was equally as burly as the beast before him. He was dressed in a soldier’s uniform, dyed red leather trussed together with bronze accents. At his hip rested a heavy broadsword, something that would have taken Laurent two hands to wield. His close proximity to the dog hinted that it was his daemon.</p><p>Amorian was about to comment on how preposterous it was that a soldier have a servant’s soul, but the words died out when <a href="https://thumbs-prod.si-cdn.com/-lanN0nSfJVxUCaHj9W98IyM6eE=/fit-in/1072x0/https://contest-public-media.si-cdn.com/c03f3f65a52d278065eba055abee9753054890ea.jpg">a sandy blonde lioness</a> slinked out of the carriage. Her movements were liquid and full of grace.</p><p>It was true then, the rumors about the prince’s daemon had not been unfounded.</p><p>Many of the Veretian courtiers gasped at the sight of such a beast and shied away. The lot of them had smaller, more delicate expressions of the soul, creatures that could rest easily on a shoulder, an arm, or in the palm of a hand.</p><p>The large lioness skulked away from the carriage and leaned forward to stretch her giant paws out in the plush grass of the courtyard before showing off her fangs with a wide yawn. Laurent might have been concerned at the sight of so many sharp teeth, but instead his attention was diverted back to the prince who was now making his way out of the carriage.</p><p>Damianos, too, was impressive in stature and dressed in that same ridiculous Akielon fashion all of his retinue was. The only distinction between his clothing and theirs was that the material was more decadent and of a higher quality befitting royalty. A long red cape billowed out behind him as he stepped toward the dias.</p><p>He was showing infinitely too much skin, Laurent thought, feeling his pulse flutter dangerously at the sight. Unlike himself, this prince wore no crown. To mark his status, there was a lion’s head pin holding his chiton up. He should really be wearing more clothing that properly displayed his position as the crown prince of Akielos. As it were, in only this fancy bed sheet, he looked more a pauper than a prince.</p><p>Laurent was about to comment on it to Amorian, but when he turned to speak to him, his daemon was nowhere to be found.</p><p>A bright white flash of movement cut across the courtyard, and <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/31/67/e3/3167e3829e0abe13cb0c0428f1e6402d.jpg">a dove</a> was flitting around the foreign prince and his daemon. The lioness’ yellow gaze followed it lazily, but she made no move to swat at it.</p><p>“I see you’ve made a friend,” Auguste teased Laurent with a whisper. He was still standing tall and waiting for the Akielon prince to stop before them.</p><p>Laurent’s cheeks were ruddy; he could feel it. He’d lost control of his daemon and now everyone in attendance in the courtyard had seen it. Worst of all, Amorian had transformed into a turtle dove, a form he’d never taken before. That was like insult to injury, and Laurent seethed.</p><p>Everyone knew that the only people who kept those as daemons into adulthood were foolhardy romantics and doting mothers, neither of which was he, and it was mortifying that anyone see his soul behave in such a manner not at all befitting of a prince.</p><p>Auguste was going to tease him endlessly over this, he just knew it.</p><p>Laurent gripped his hands into fists and looked down at his feet while the prince and his brother exchanged pleasantries, fitfully willing the ground to hurry up and swallow him whole.<br/>
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</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
Prince Damianos was going to stay for a fortnight.</p><p>However, his presence on just the first day had already been one day too many in Laurent’s opinion. He'd been forced to play host with his brother, King Auguste of Vere, all afternoon. They had welcomed their guests with a tour of the castle grounds, then shared a light lunch together in the dining hall before showing them personally to their guest quarters. The evening had ended with a much larger and opulent feast held in their Akielon guest’s honor.</p><p>Strange dishes had made an appearance that night. Plates of spiced meats with peculiar sauces and sticky desserts that Laurent had never tasted before came out of the kitchen alongside common Veretian staples. Someone must have arranged for traditional Akielon ingredients to be provided for their guests' chefs to prepare as part of the feast. It was a wise decision in that both parties felt equally represented at the table where they would first break bread.</p><p>That was what this meeting of royals had initially been made to achieve, to cultivate peace between nations who had warred as enemies for longer than any high scholar could remember. And now, with times plentiful, and a shift in power since the passing of the late King Arleon, Arles was ready for a series of peaceful negotiations to forge new friendships outside of Vere.</p><p>Laurent hated it.</p><p>He hated it so much that the Akielon prince was charming and kind and smiled too freely for a man who would one day rule across the continent as a barbarian king. He did not possess the demeanor suitable for a ruler, and Laurent despised how easily both he and Auguste got along. This was not what their father had told them about the people of Akielos, this was not what he had come to expect from this prince’s visit.</p><p>But what Laurent disliked most of all, was that he didn’t really hate Prince Damianos, not even a little bit.</p><p>If he were being honest, which he often was not if the outcome weren't in his better interests, there was something about Prince Damianos that <em> called </em> to him. A tug, a yearning of some sort that he could not put a name on, but felt all the same whenever the prince’s gaze was directed at him.</p><p>Though unspoken, Amorian clearly felt it and reveled in the sensation. He’d spent nearly all of the first day palling around with the prince’s daemon, ignoring Laurent in favor of indulging in anything and everything she whispered to him about the Akielon prince.</p><p>Her name was Zavia, Amorian had excitedly chittered away to Laurent later that night in the shape of <a href="https://cdn.britannica.com/26/65326-050-53232216/Norway-rat.jpg">a tawny colored rat</a>, and she was as kind and beautiful as the prince himself. The way his daemon went on and on about their foreign guest, the more Laurent wanted to strangle him even if it meant ending his own life as well.</p><p>He made a silent promise that night to not interact with the prince any more than was necessary for the remainder of his visit—he would miss meetings, make himself scarce during daylight hours, and skip meals if he had to, anything was better than this odd sensation pulling deep in his chest. He didn’t like the way the Akielon prince made him feel, but he especially didn’t like the influence his daemon, Zavia, seemed to have over Laurent’s own.</p><p>In addition to the dove incident that morning, Amorian had embarrassed Laurent further by assuming the common shape of a noble courtesan’s daemon during dinner. The cheerful yips he’d let out when shifted as a <a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f7/RileyPapillon.JPG">yellow papillon</a> while pestering Zavia had upset Laurent too much to eat. The burning in his chest had to have been disgust as he watched Amorian instigate play fights with Damianos’ daemon.</p><p>Only children could not control their feelings. He’d excused himself before physically dragging his daemon away and locking them both in his bedchambers.</p><p>The remainder of Damianos’ two weeks in Vere had not gone smoothly. Thrice, Auguste had come to speak with him about the poor attitude he’d shown around their honored guests—his absences were always noted, and Cosette scolded him thoroughly for displaying such churlish behavior that was unbecoming of a young man. As if that were not enough, each night Amorian gave him another earful as he assumed shape after shape, each one restless and unhappy that Laurent would deny himself the right to enjoy this <em> pull </em> that they both felt. He was a part of Laurent, so he knew the feeling first-hand. But instead of being scared, he wanted more. His daemon couldn’t understand why he would fight against something so natural, so instinctual that it was <em> hurting </em> them to refuse it.</p><p>Whatever it was, it was strong, like something conceptualized that Laurent had read about in books before. A fated yearning for a destiny that would surely lead to something fantastic, whether it be to salvation or ruin, he could not be sure. But depictions of that nature were only found in fairy tales, and he was not a child no matter how frivolous his soul seemed hell-bent on behaving.</p><p>Laurent succeeded in avoiding the Akielons most of their stay until the night of their very last day in Arles, where Auguste and Cosette commanded him to attend the farewell banquet. The tone of voice they’d used told him there would be no argument, and Laurent stared peevishly at his reflection in a standing mirror while the servants worked to finish lacing up one of his finest jackets.</p><p>Amorian was <a href="https://test.cdn.download.ams.birds.cornell.edu/api/v1/asset/42535091/1800">a hummingbird</a>, blue-necked with a white belly and zipping around the room with anxiety the whole time. He had not been completely successful in his endeavors to steer clear of Prince Damianos and his daemon; they only crossed paths by chance on two or three occurrences in the last two weeks, the pulling sensation stronger each and every time. It was obvious to Laurent that Amorian had felt it too and that the feeling had only added to his already compounded restlessness from Laurent’s dismissal of his heart’s truest desires. The way he flitted from corner to corner, he couldn’t wait to get out of this room and resume embarrassing Laurent once more.</p><p>“It’s silly to deny it,” his daemon chided before the final lace was set in place under his throat. “I know you feel it too because <em>I</em> feel it as well.”</p><p>Normally, Luarent’s soul knew better than to voice its opinions in front of others, strangers, but these servants were his family’s trusted staff, and all of them were sworn to ensure that protection of all the royal family’s indiscretions took precedence before their own individual curiosities. Still, it didn’t stop Laurent from staring both of them down with a glare so chilling that one of their dog daemons finally let out a high-pitched whine of discomfort under such intense scrutiny.</p><p>When the servants were finished, and his princely circlet placed atop his golden head, Laurent was escorted by one of his prince’s guard to the banquet hall.</p><p>Auguste was seated at the head of the table, Prince Damianos to his right. There was an empty chair opposite him that was purposefully left open for Laurent. The placement was no mistake, the left side was for the King’s hand, an advisor. Some day, Laurent would be expected to fill that role and offer wisdom to help guide his brother and rule the kingdom. Tonight’s seating arrangement may have just been for show, but it was also meant as an apology for his deliberate absences during the Akielons' visit.</p><p>Laurent hated it in the same way he’d hated everything else that had not gone according to his wishes this week. He made sure not to stomp his feet as he trounced over and slid into his seat opposite Prince Damianos, doing his best to ignore the tugging sensation as it started up again, deep in his chest.</p><p>The dinner started banally enough with Cosette perched on top of Auguste’s chair, watching over everything with a sharp eye including all of those in attendance. Nikandros, Prince Damianos’ guard with the dog daemon, was making small talk from beside his liege and offered a toast in honor of the hospitality they’d received from their Veretian brothers.</p><p>Laurent lifted his goblet of water, too, to be polite, but was more distracted by other pressing concerns than these strangers’ comfort. He was not yet allowed wine, so this tribute was meaningless to him.</p><p>Auguste returned the gesture in kind by making another toast of his own, calling the Akielons his brothers as well, which made Laurent prickle weirdly, and made many platitudes such as a wish that his guests could extend their visit. It had been pleasant getting to know them, he’d said, and to see that all men were still men no matter the color of their skin, the language of their mother tongue, or the land from which they came. It was a beautiful toast, one Laurent wished he could have sincerely enjoyed and partaken in, but he was too busy glaring at his daemon, now in the form of a dotted fawn bouncing on its little hooves and dancing in between the playful swats of Zavia. He’d been eyeing Amorian for the past five minutes, and he was not pleased with what he saw.</p><p>As soon as Laurent had looked away for the briefest of seconds to choose his starter course, Amorian had slipped beneath the table and wandered off to engage the prince’s daemon in pointless games and gossip. Even Nikandros’ dog, Danae, had joined in, her tongue happily lolling out of the side of her mouth as she listened to the conversation Zavia and Amorian were having out of earshot of Laurent.</p><p>He tightened his grip on his goblet, not having drank when Auguste finished his toast.</p><p>“Prince Laurent, it is good to see you again,” a deep voice came from across the table and redirected Laurent’s ire to a handsome tanned face. Prince Damianos was smiling at him, sporting a dimple on the left side of his mouth. He spoke in easy Veretian with fine pronunciation, something Laurent could admit impressed him since his own Akielon was sorely lacking by comparison.</p><p>“Likewise,” he coolly answered and brought his water back to his lips. It was not an appropriate answer to give someone of Damiamons’ position, but they were both princes, so technically, it wasn’t wholly improper. He blamed it on the fact that he was having difficulty focusing due to an increase in pressure on his chest the longer Damianos looked at him.</p><p>“It is a shame we did not get much time to talk. Your brother tells me you are quite a skilled rider.”</p><p>Laurent grimaced at the compliment and cursed Auguste for being as chatty as a laundry maid. Not that there was any shame in being praised by his brother, but Auguste telling Damianos more about Laurent was unnerving in a way. By acknowledging him openly, Damianos had made Laurent feel even more uncomfortable than before. His cheeks were heating now and a light sweat could be felt breaking out underneath his doublet.</p><p>Maybe he was sick.</p><p>“Perhaps, if he is as good as King Auguste claims, he may yet come and join us for the harvest games this season,” Nikandros offered, sloshing his wine around excitedly and injecting himself into their conversation.</p><p>Laurent was grateful for it.</p><p>“Only if he is not forced to compete in the Okton,” Auguste added, and Cosette nodded her assent to his opinion. She was looking very carefully at Laurent now, but remained silent otherwise. All around the table were well versed in sport, every noble man had to be, and while bits of Akielon games resembled those of their Veretian cousins, the Okton was infinitely more dangerous than any sort of Veretian hunt.</p><p>It was called the sport of kings, Jules had told Laurent one day many months ago during a rote lesson, and it’s rules to compete were very convoluted and complex. Laurent could barely remember half of them, but he knew the sport could result in the death of a contender from time to time. Looking at Prince Damianos across from him now, it was hard to imagine someone as big and bulky as the prince competing in a sport such as that. Surely it required greater agility than strength, the former of which Damianos did not appear to be as blessed with.</p><p>“No,” Nikandros laughed, “he will not have to compete in such dangerous sport. He is too young! Though, I will say that I would like to see some of your finer <em>men</em> try their hand at wrestling.”</p><p>Laurent’s ears reddened at the mention of that particular Akielon sport. Everyone at the table burst into raunchy laughter, aware of the innuendo that Nikandros had just made with such a statement, and Laurent turned his attentions back to his daemon for reprieve from the conversation.  He looked just in time to witness Amorian dart behind Zavia as a deerling and clamber out from behind her in the form of a soft <a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/4014/4578996705_9a7217a68d_b.jpg">white lamb</a>.</p><p>He slammed his drink down on the table. All laughter stopped.</p><p>“Are you all right, your Highness?” Nikandros asked. He looked only slightly guilty for possibly offending Laurent with his crude humor. They still saw him as a child, after all.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Laurent lied, feeling his symptoms worsen under so many worried gazes. He turned to meet Nikandros’ eyes and smiled in the hopes that his pleasant engagement would avert everyone else’s attention from what was going on behind them. Zavia had just corralled Amorian in an embrace, and the two of them were caught up in one another. Their familiarity was much too intimate for acquaintance’s daemons to engage in and it horrified Laurent even more that he couldn’t seem to reel in his soul’s shameful behavior.</p><p>Out of all the ways in which Amorian could have humiliated Laurent, this form was by far the worst of all. Lambs were gentle, innocent, and docile. None of those words were anything Laurent would ever have wanted anyone to associate him with, and least of all with his truest self, his soul rolling over so meekly for a foreign stranger all while Laurent’s insides were roiling and conflicted, and he just couldn’t stand it any longer.</p><p>Instead of making a scene and demanding his daemon return to him, instead of getting up and forcibly separating the two, Laurent pushed himself away from the table slowly and asked his brother if he could be dismissed.</p><p>Desserts had not yet been served, and Auguste gave Laurent an odd look knowing that was always his favorite part of any meal. Cosette watched him closely. “Not feeling well?” she asked him, her beady black eye gleaming in the remaining candlelight illuminating their feast.</p><p>“No,” Laurent told her and meant it. Then he looked at Auguste, pleadingly, until he nodded his ascent.</p><p>Laurent stood up, sparing only the briefest of glances at Amorian before stepping away from the table and exiting down one of the closest hallways. The look he’d received from his daemon had warned “<em>Don’t</em>”, but Laurent was not a person who enjoyed being told what to do, even if the someone telling him so was himself. Amorian was not going to come with him, he was clearly tired of Laurent running away from whatever this <em> thing </em> was that they were feeling. The only person Laurent was going to hurt with his unreasonable actions was himself and Amorian, who was but an extension of himself.</p><p>He didn’t get too far though his effort was a valiant, if stupid, one.</p><p>Only a handful of people could be separated from their daemons at a great distance and, usually, that particular skill took time and training. Laurent and Amorian had never been apart by more than a few feet their whole lives, let alone parted by a labyrinth of long corridors. The pulling intensified, going from uncomfortable to unpleasant. A pain radiated in his chest, and he fought to push himself farther and farther away from the dining hall.</p><p>He collapsed just steps away from his bedroom, face flushed, chest heaving, and sweat beginning to seep into the neckline of his ornate jacket.</p><p>Why was it so hard to overcome this feeling when he didn’t even want to be near himself?</p><p>It wasn’t fair, he caught himself thinking as loud footsteps thundered down the hall. The last thing he heard were the pained cries of some wounded animal echoing off the stone walls before his vision blacked out.<br/>
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</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
When Laurent opened his eyes, he was no longer dreaming. Or was it remembering? That particular incident had been a memory, back from when he was a boy, fighting against who he was and what he would one day become.</p><p>Early morning light filtered in through the open balcony, gauzy silks swaying in the breeze. It was spring, and the air coming in from the oceans surrounding Ios offered a soothing respite from the heat of its brutal days. Soon, the sun would rise high enough in the sky that Laurent knew he would be forced from bed to begin tending to his usual daily duties, but for the moment, he was allowed to dally in bed as he pleased.</p><p>Shifting back the blankets and lowering his hand off the side of the bed, he was greeted with the warm barbed tongue of Zavia from where she slept on the floor. She gave him lazy licks, dipping in between the webbing of his fingers, an intimate gesture that should have been taboo. Touching someone else’s daemon was near unheard of and yet she loved to nuzzle and lap at Laurent’s pale skin.</p><p>“Good morning,” he whispered to her, listening for the deep rumble of happiness that always resonated in her chest when he spoke to her. He felt it too, in a way, even though the two of them were not directly connected.</p><p>Laurent drew his hand back and turned over to catch sight of Amorian wound loosely around his husband’s neck. His scales were resplendent, pearly white against the darker tan of Damianos’ skin.</p><p>It had taken another year or so after Laurent first met Damen before Amorian had finally settled into this form. All those who had witnessed his final transfiguration were in agreement that the little <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/21/43/8f/21438f7be0a57fd0499058f801bcdbf1.jpg">white snake</a> was fitting, and Laurent could see why. Serpents embodied wisdom and change, things that Laurent now saw in himself.</p><p>Amorian turned dark eyes on Laurent and flicked his tongue out gently against Damen’s cheek.</p><p>It was a kiss.</p><p>Laurent felt heat begin to build in his chest, a fondness he never would have imagined he could experience let alone share.</p><p>It made sense now, in retrospect. After the Akielon prince’s first visit to Arles, there had been many more. Peace was finally solidified through agreements and treaties, and Vere and Akielos were able to enter into a new age of healing from the dregs of fruitless wars of the past. All things should change and grow, and when Laurent finally came of age, a request from Prince Damianos to King Auguste asking for permission to court his younger brother arrived shortly thereafter.</p><p>He smiled faintly at the memory.</p><p>Two long years of an unhurried courtship, one month’s journey from Arles to Ios followed by a royal wedding, and five years of a happy marriage to the man who complimented the other half of his soul had been… Laurent couldn’t think of words to describe it. Their initial guise had been to unite Vere and Akielos inseparably, but truth be told, they were just smitten with one another.</p><p>Even now, Auguste liked to brag that he and Cosette knew from the moment Laurent and Damen met that they were meant to be. “<em>Souls do not lie</em>,” he had said, and Laurent realized he’d been foolish to think he could ever swim against this tide. He was caught in it now, and he never wanted to return from sea.</p><p>Amorian flicked his tongue once more, this time closer to Damen’s ear, and Laurent knew what he was suggesting without words.</p><p>Laurent slithered across the bed slowly, quietly and wound his way around his husband the way a snake does a tree. Wrapped around him like this, so close, it was easy to tell that Damen was feigning sleep.</p><p>“Zavia is awake,” Laurent murmured, dipping his head down to steal a kiss. “You’re not fooling anyone.”</p><p>“Damned traitorous daemon,” he heard his husband chuckle, warm brown eyes opening for the first time that day. It was a sight Laurent would never tire of seeing. “Do we have to get up?” Damen asked. He didn’t look tired, and Laurent knew he liked to partake in leisurely mornings whenever possible. It was not conducive to running a kingdom, but Damen’s bad habits were finally beginning to rub off on Laurent. He watched lazily as Damen’s left hand came up to retrieve Amorian from around his neck. The little snake saw the gesture and wound round and round his hand, body sliding in between fingers and tail clasping tightly around Damen’s ring finger, a sign of love and trust.</p><p>“No,” Laurent exhaled, moving to tuck his head in the space now vacated by his daemon. “We don’t. Not yet.” And so, they stayed there for a while longer, enjoying the warmth of the sun as it filtered in through their bedroom.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Special thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheekysstyles">cheekystyles</a> for betaing this AND checking my <i>His Dark Materials</i> lore. You're da bestest!</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Short Hair, Don't Care</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><b>Title:</b> Short Hair, Don't Care<br/><b>Prompt:</b> Fluff<br/><b>Rating:</b> PG<br/><b>Summary:</b> In the spirit of recovering from a very messy break-up, Damen makes the rash decision to cut his hair. But the appointment he’s made on such short notice is accidentally never booked and now he’s stuck with the sassiest hair stylist he’s ever met.<br/><b>Note:</b> Oh, wait, fluff was meant as, like, a category of fic and NOT floofly hair? My bad.</p>
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“I’m okay, Nik,” Damen repeats for the fifth time that day. He’s just stepped off the bus, really needs his phone for directions, but it’s kind of hard to use the map feature when his best friend won’t take a hint and get off the line.</p><p>“What she did to you is bogus,” Nikandros goes on. “She’s my friggin’ cousin for Christ’s sake! I would’ve never allowed you two to meet if I’d known she was going to do this.”</p><p>Damen sighs.</p><p>He’s been over this, he doesn’t know how many times now, but it hasn’t gotten easier despite the fact that it happened days ago. A messy break-up is messy no matter whose cousin is involved, and while he appreciates Nik’s sentiments on the matter and his solidarity—“I’m never speaking to that bitch again!”—it’s time Damen does something for himself that doesn’t involve piss poor decisions influenced by alcohol or a night full of sloppy rebound sex.</p><p>“I gotta go, Nik,” Damen says, shoving his free hand into his jacket pocket.</p><p>“Oh yeah? A’ight,” Nik replies. “Just make sure you call me later. I’m taking you out tonight if it’s the last thing I do!” They say goodbye and hang up, Damen’s thumb tapping open the map app before he can even second guess what he’s about to do.</p><p>It had made sense earlier this morning when he’d gotten up and seen his reflection in the mirror. Two days of ugly crying over your shitty ex just because she decided to sleep with your brother does not a handsome man make.</p><p>Damen looks horrible, he knows this, and it’s now time for a different sort of change.</p><p>He’d spent part of today finding all of Jokaste’s belongings and pitching them into a box that he placed by the door for whenever her friends will inevitably call to come and pick them up. It has felt good to separate their things and reclaim some of his apartment space back as his, but he thinks this next thing is going to make him feel even better.</p><p>Getting a haircut is the fastest way to cut her influence out of his life, literally. </p><p>As it is now, his long hair is like a physical reminder that Jokaste ever had any sway over his life in the past. How many other times did she lie to him before crawling into bed with Kastor? She’d loved him as surely as she’d insisted he’d look better growing his hair out, which is to say not very much at all. He'd always suspected he looked silly with long hair, but hadn’t thought twice to question her preference at time. That is all the more reason why it has got to go now that they’re no longer together.</p><p>He types in the salon’s cheeky name, Veretians Do or Dye, and highlights it to begin directions. It’ll only take a few minutes to walk there, but he’s still not sure what he’s going to ask for when he finally arrives. He wants a haircut, maybe a full buzz since he’s so desperate for a drastic change. Perhaps the stylist might even be willing to cut his heart out with the scissors, too, if Damen offers them enough? Deciding it doesn’t really matter, he sets off.</p><p>He’s sick of feeling this way.</p><p>It takes less than five minutes to get the salon on foot, and he’s closing the directions app before pushing the front door open. A bell chimes, and he’s greeted by the sight of numerous stylists busy at work. The inside is modern and sleek, its interior tastefully decorated with only a hint of old Veretian glamor. It’s certainly not what he was expecting with such an edgy name.</p><p>There are people getting their hair cut and colored and a handful of others are sitting around in the waiting area, patiently seated, awaiting their turn. But Damen’s not here to wait; he already made an appointment over the phone this morning.</p><p>He checks the time on his cell before tucking it and his hands back into his pockets and stepping up to the front counter where a surly looking redhead is popping his gum while thumbing through a copy of some popular celebrity magazine.</p><p>He doesn’t acknowledge Damen right away, so he tries clearing his throat to catch the receptionist’s attention.</p><p>It earns him a sassy side-eyed look.</p><p>“Can I help you?” the long-haired redhead asks before blowing a bubble and popping it loudly. He clearly doesn’t mean what he’s just said as he has yet to set down the magazine. Maybe he’s hoping that, with enough general apathy, Damen will just go away.</p><p>“I called earlier and made an appointment for a haircut?”</p><p>The redhead lets out an insufferable sigh and finally sets his magazine down. The prospect of doing any <em>actual</em> work doesn’t seem to appeal to him, and Damen tries not to let the way the receptionist rolls his green eyes upset him. The redhead swivels his chair around and toward a computer where he moves the mouse and types a couple of things in before rudely asking, “Name?”</p><p>“Damen. Uh, Damianos.”</p><p>“D-A-M…” he mumbles and scrolls the mouse for a minute before turning back to Damen with an irritated expression. “You don’t have an appointment.”</p><p>“Wha—” Damen, takes his hands out of his pockets and places them on the counter. “I called earlier this morning. Today,” he clarifies. One of his hands goes down to dig his phone back out, and he swipes it open to display the call list. When he goes to show it to the redhead behind the desk, he shifts away from Damen looking like he’s been offered a fistful of insects.</p><p>“Look, I just checked the calendar, and there’s no <em>Damen</em> or <em>Damianos</em> on it. If you want to get your hair cut, you’ll need to make an appointment like everyone else.”</p><p>“But I did,” Damen reasons, raising his voice just a little.</p><p>“Sir,” the redhead starts, “you can leave if you’re going to—”</p><p>“There a problem here?”</p><p>They both turn to see a handsome man in his early thirties approach. He’s got golden blonde hair that’s pulled back and braided neatly along the sides of his head. It’s <a href="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/696495062015541268/726148665223413790/5775ad1e83b56213e6bf74c4abb32aca.png">an unusual style</a> for a man, but suits him nonetheless.</p><p>That was part of the reason why Damen chose this salon in the first place. It had high ratings and pictures from previous clients were all decidedly impressive as he’d scrolled through the reviews. Now, if only they would honor his appointment.</p><p>“Thank fuck,” the artifical redhead swears and thumbs at Damen like he’s <em>not</em> still within earshot. “This guy won’t get it through his thick skull that he doesn’t have an appointment. I told him he needs to make one or beat it, but he wants to argue that he called in this morning and made one. I just checked the calendar, Auguste, there’s nothing there. What do you want me to do about it?”</p><p>Auguste, as the redhead referred to him as, purses his lips and begins peeling off his purple nitrile gloves that are covered in dark hair dye. He wads them up carefully and tosses them into a basket hidden behind the desk. The receptionist startles.</p><p>Looking at Damen now, Auguste asks, “What time did you call?”</p><p>“Uh,” Damen intelligently replies, turning his phone back on and checking the call log. “A little after nine.”</p><p>Auguste nods and turns back to the receptionist. “Ancel, weren’t you on a call with Berenger around that time?” His redheaded coworker doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty for being confronted like that.</p><p>“Ber-Bear always calls me in the morning,” he explains in the tone of voice you’d take while speaking to someone who’s a little slow on the uptake. “What am I supposed to do, not answer?”</p><p>Auguste lets out a disappointed sigh. “Ancel, can you go get the Lady Vannes a bottled water, please?”</p><p>“Am I your pet? I don’t do tricks for free,” he mouths off, standing regardless and making his way toward what Damen can only assume is the back to do as he’s been told.</p><p>“Sparkling,” Auguste tacks on as an afterthought, not once looking away from Damen as he speaks.</p><p>When Ancel is finally out of sight, he says, “I’m fairly certain you made an appointment this morning, but as you can see…” He nods his head in the same direction the sassy receptionist sauntered off to with a grimace. “His mother and mine are best friends. If I could fire him, trust me, I would.”</p><p>Damen nods along, wholly believing that this Auguste guy is a man of his word.</p><p>“But hey, you came all this way to get your haircut, and this is my salon. I’m not going to leave you high and dry like that. Can I schedule you in for an appointment tomorrow? I’d offer to cut your hair myself right now, but...” he turns and gestures vaguely at his busy staff already tending to all the other clients in the salon.</p><p>They’re booked solid, just like Ancel said they were.</p><p>Damen’s got eyes; he can see that much without being told.</p><p>“That’s really kind of you,” he begins to say, bringing a hand up to pick at the poorly gathered hair at the nape of his neck that he’s attempted to tie back, “but I’d really like this cut as soon as possible, even if it means I have to go to another salon.”</p><p>“Something serious?” Auguste asks, his face taking on a genuinely concerned look.</p><p>“Break-up,” Damen explains. “<em>Bad</em> break-up.”</p><p>“Ouch,” Auguste winces in sympathy. “I think I can help, hang on a sec.” He looks over his shoulder and whistles loudly through his teeth. None of the other employees in the salon react to it, and for a moment Damen thinks Auguste is messing with him until a pale blonde head with short hair peeks out from behind a corner. There’s something familiar about the flat features on that face as it stares back at the two of them. Maybe it’s the nose or the eyes, Damen’s not sure, but these two are definitely related.</p><p>“What,” a cool voice calls out, barely audible over the usual din and chatter of a busy salon.</p><p>“I've got a favor I need you to do,” Auguste says, bringing both of his arms up to cross over his chest. The intensity of the look they’re getting from the disembodied head just <em>feels</em> menacing.</p><p>“I’m busy,” the head says, not bothering to explain further just what busy means.</p><p>“Yeah, I know that,” Auguste huffs. His foot begins tapping with impatience. “But payroll and those accounts payable aren’t going anywhere and my friend here…” he trails off, looking expectantly over at Damen who needs to hurry up and insert himself into the conversation before it gets awkward.</p><p>“Damianos. Damen.”</p><p>“My friend, Damen, needs us to do him a solid and cut his hair ASAP.”</p><p>“Some friend he is if you don’t even know his name,” comes a tart reply. The head is not wrong about that.</p><p>Auguste sighs and uncrosses his arms. “Laurent,” he says to the head, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I’m asking you to do this for me as your brother. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”</p><p>The head, who’s name is apparently Laurent, narrows its ice blue eyes and dips back behind the wall. Damen takes that as a sign they’ve been rejected and dismissed and has already resigned himself to the fact that he’ll most likely have to find a chain-salon for his emergency makeover when Augsute claps his hand on Damen’s shoulder and offers to take his coat.</p><p>“Wha—but, I thought—” he tries to say as August leads him over to the wash station. Damen’s jacket is slipped off his shoulders, he’s seated, and Auguste is already tucking a towel into the neckline of his crew cut t-shirt before he manages to finish a complete sentence. “Isn’t that a no?”</p><p>“Don’t worry.” Auguste offers Damen a smile before securing a black nylon cape over Damen’s clothes to prevent them from getting wet. “He’ll do it. He loves me.”</p><p>Damen wants to ask how Auguste can be so sure, how he knows that his brother Laurent, the head, is going to do as his brother says even though he had agreed to nothing earlier. Damen opens his mouth to do so, but a timer rings out from somewhere on the other side of the salon, interrupting him. Their conversation has to be cut short because Auguste needs to get back to his current client. Politely, he thanks Damen for giving him the chance to honor this appointment and promises Damen that he won’t be disappointed with the service before walking off.</p><p>Damen just sits there for a moment, confused. It’s only when he’s about to get up and pull the cape off that Laurent finally appears.</p><p>He’s dressed casually, a black thin turtleneck over dark blue skinny jeans tucked into knee-high leather boots. On his hip, there’s a stylist’s tool belt complete with scissors, metal clips, and a fine tooth comb poking out. He looks like he might actually be willing to provide a haircut despite the disgruntled face he’s giving Damen.</p><p>“What do you want done.”</p><p>Damen thinks that’s supposed to be a question, but the way Laurent says it is more like a demand, like he’s commanding Damen to tell him why he’s been ordered to do this by his brother.</p><p>“Not a trim?” Damen makes an attempt at humor, but Laurent doesn’t laugh. Instead, he reaches behind Damen and undoes the mess he’s made of his long hair with an elastic. There’s a moment of critical inspection that Laurent directs at Damen before he places a finely manicured hand flat against Damen’s broad chest and pushes him back into the sink. It’s not super comfortable, though none of these wash station sinks ever have been, but at least the water is pleasantly warm when Laurent begins soaking his hair from the roots to the ends. The way Laurent runs his fingers gently, slowly through the tangled mess feels nice, soothing even. It’s been a long time since Damen’s felt cared for, so it's easy to allow himself to melt into Laurent’s touch.</p><p>By now, a typical hair stylist would have asked him a flurry of impersonal questions, made small talk of all sorts to help pass the time, but Laurent does none of that. He communicates with his fingers, which are practiced and methodical, slipping in and out of Damen’s long curls to froth shampoo and then, after rinsing that out, conditioner.</p><p>He doesn’t speak again until he’s patting Damen’s hair dry. Then he asks, “Why a haircut ASAP?”</p><p>“Break-up,” Damen repeats for the third time that day. Laurent stops moving the towel over Damen’s head and levels him with a flat stare.</p><p>“Are you some kind of soap opera from the late 90s?”</p><p>“Laurent,” they both hear called out from the other side of the salon. It’s Auguste, and he’s staring at them. He’s in the middle of unrolling aluminum foil out of a woman’s hair and pauses to use two of his fingers to point at his eyes and then back at Laurent. <em> Watch yourself </em> the gesture seems to say, and Damen can hear Laurent click his tongue in annoyance.</p><p>“Come on then,” Laurent tells Damen, unclipping the wet cape and tossing it and the towel into a nearby laundry bin. They walk over to his workstation, an organized mess of clutter featuring stacks of high fashion magazines and photo albums. It doesn’t look like he works here often, and Laurent doesn’t even bother to try and fix up the mess before directing Damen into the empty chair.</p><p>“Sit,” Laurent commands, pointing at the space in front of him. Damen does without argument. He’s so tall that it barely takes any footwork to get Damen up to a level where Laurent can comfortably reach his hair. Another cape, this one dry, is clasped around his throat, and Damen watches as Laurent opens a drawer at a nearby station to pull out a wide paddle brush so he can comb out the rest of Damen’s long tangled hair.</p><p>Damen’s hair is naturally curly, always has been since he was a kid, but it’s straightened out some from the weight of its length at Jokaste’s request that he not cut it. Laurent does quick work untangling it and plating it into sections to be cut. “What a difference some conditioner makes,” Laurent says off-hand, dropping the brush down on his pile of magazines.</p><p>“Length?” he asks, not meeting Damen’s eyes.</p><p>He wants to say everything, all of it; he almost thinks he means it, too, but then he’s second-guessing. Laurent strikes him as the kind of person you need to be careful with as he’ll take whatever you say at face value. If given such a directive, he’d likely ditch the guard off his clippers and go to town until there was nothing left.</p><p>So, Damen takes the lull in their interaction to think seriously about what it is he wants done. His eyes flit up to the mirror in front of him, taking in the look of <a href="https://lovehairstyles.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/popular-pixie-cut-looks-side-swepr-long-blonde.jpg">Laurent's own short hair</a>. It’s actually medium length for a man, but styled in soft sweeping waves that artfully frame his face. The cut and color make him look almost ethereal, like he’s not of his world. Laurent is practically model ready for a fashion shoot, and Damen can’t help but think it suits him, this look, his taste. If he is, in fact, the one who decided on the cut and color of his own hair, he knows how to choose something that will perfectly suit another person’s features.</p><p>“You can decide,” Damen finally says. He’s looking at Laurent staring back at him from his reflection in the mirror. Blue eyes narrow for a second but then they relax. He must have been thinking.</p><p>“You trust me?” Laurent asks almost like he doesn’t trust himself, like few people have ever allowed him to do what he wants.</p><p>“As long as you promise it’s going to look different from what it is now, I’m sure I’ll be fine with whatever you decide.”</p><p>The corner of Laurent’s mouth quirks up, this smirk a wicked looking thing on his otherwise angelic face, and he drops the hair he’d just been sorting from his hands. “I’ll be right back,” he says and wanders off somewhere to the right.</p><p>Granted a brief moment of reprieve, Damen slips his hands out from under the cape and rubs at his eyes. He’s really going to do this. Two years of a strained relationship, two years of bending over backwards to make his ex happy and still somehow failing to do so are culminating to this moment. Soon, the proof of those two year’s worth of effort are going to be removed with the simple snip of scissors.</p><p>He wonders briefly what Nik will say when he sees him tonight because Damen knows he’s not going to refuse a night out drinking after this. Today’s haircut is heavier in a way that Damen hadn’t anticipated when he’d initially made the appointment this morning. And while he still wants it, he’s scared of what it will do to him once it’s done. It’s silly to think he’ll magically be transformed into someone else just because he’s lost a couple inches of hair—it’ll grow back as it always does; he knows this. But there’s a certain kind of finality that’s going to be evident at the end of those shears, and that’s what terrifies him most.</p><p>Everything really will be over.</p><p>The soft click of a camera shutter disrupts Damen’s introspection, and he looks up just in time to see Laurent walk around behind him and snap another picture on a smartphone.</p><p>“Wha—hey!”</p><p>He definitely didn’t agree to this.</p><p>“Don’t you have to ask me to sign a release before you take my picture?”</p><p>Laurent raises a pale eyebrow at him and turns the phone off before sliding into his back pocket.</p><p>“Do I?”</p><p>Damen nods. “Pretty sure you do.”</p><p>“Huh,” Laurent says, reaching down to dig an elastic out of his work belt and gathering up Damen’s hair at the nape of his neck. “First time I’ve heard this.”</p><p>“I believe it’s standard procedure,” Damen tells him, allowing Laurent to sift fingers through his hair and grab every last bit of it into a tight low ponytail.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” he assures Damen, “I can blur out your face.”</p><p>Damen wants to argue that’s not the point, but doesn’t say anything when he feels Laurent step away. There’s the quiet metallic snik of scissors, and then Laurent’s hand is back on his hair. It takes three hard snips before a weight at the back of Damen’s head is lifted.</p><p>“Whoops,” he hears Laurent murmur followed by the soft thud of his hair hitting the floor in a large clump. They’re really doing this then, no turning back now.</p><p>With the majority his length now gone, Laurent puts the scissors away and goes to hook up his clippers. There’s the sound of hard plastic being changed out as he switches between his guards, and a steady buzzing starts up behind Damen.</p><p>He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, unable to watch what’s about to happen next. Laurent doesn’t say anything, surprisingly. Damen had almost expected to get teased, but Laurent is a good person if somewhat crass. The chair is turned around, sparing Damen the mirror, and Laurent sets to work.</p><p>It doesn’t take long to trim down Damen’s sides. Fading is trickier, but Laurent is very skilled. The scissors make a brief reappearance, and he turns his head whichever way Laurent positions him in with his fingers. Damen watches Laurent carefully as he works. The whole cut is done in less than half an hour, and Laurent has moved on to working some kind of pomade product into the new length on top of Damen’s head, styling it this way and that until he’s satisfied with the end result. He steps back and admires his handiwork for a second before swiveling Damen’s chair back around to face the mirror.</p><p>He almost doesn’t recognize himself.</p><p><a href="https://atozhairstyles.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/3-Side-Swept-Curly-Hairstyles.jpg"> His new haircut</a> has a little more length than Laurent’s but is much shorter than what he had before. There are tumbles of longer curls still present on top of his head that are tastefully styled and tamed with product. In addition to the cut, Laurent had also taken a moment to clean up Damen’s facial hair and eyebrows. Little things like that are easy to address with a small trimmer.</p><p>Damen doesn’t think he’s ever looked this handsome before. Laurent really is something of a magician with scissors.</p><p>The soft shutter of a camera draws him back to attention again. Damen glares faintly at Laurent from the mirror, though there’s little heat to it. Laurent notices and sighs in exasperation.</p><p>“May I take your photo?” he asks in the same way a child asks a parent for permission after the fact.</p><p>Damen stops glaring and looks back at himself in the mirror. A small smile appears on his lips. Nik is definitely going to lose his shit at this and that thought, if nothing else, is enough to lift Damen’s otherwise somber mood.</p><p>Some rustling and another click, and Damen recognizes the coat Auguste had run off with in Laurent’s arms. The cell phone in his hand is Damen’s.</p><p>“Hey,” he nearly shouts, spinning around and reaching for it. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or be offended that Laurent has helped himself to his personal belongings like they’re close, like they’re friends.</p><p>“You should be thanking me,” Laurent says matter-of-factly. “I’m taking high quality headshots so that you can upload them to some stupid dating app and score a hot date.”</p><p>“I…” Damen’s hands drop and come back to rest in his lap. He looks down at them fidgeting with fabric of the black cape still draped over him. “I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet,” he explains and realizes that he means it.</p><p>Back when they were dating, Damen had thought that what he and Jokaste had was a <em> forever </em> kind of love. These past couple days, it’s been hard to imagine anyone else ever coming along and taking her place. His heart is so empty after everything now that he doesn’t know if it will ever feel full again. </p><p>He doesn’t even know if he wants it to feel full again because it hurt so badly losing everything this first time that imagining it happening again is downright terrifying. Damen swallows thickly at the lump forming in his throat. Now is not the time for self-pity. He needs to thank Laurent, get up, and get out of this salon.</p><p>Damen reaches up to undo the cape, but Laurent swats his hand away. He doesn’t say anything as he hands Damen his phone back a moment later and works on freeing him from the confines of the nylon cape. Laurent gives Damen a compulsory once over with a stiff bristled neck duster to try and remove any leftover hair that’s still clinging to Damen’s clothes, but he says nothing else before turning and walking off to wherever he came from.</p><p>Realizing he’s been set free, Damen gets up out of the chair. He grabs his jacket, which Laurent has thoughtfully set on the back of the workstation’s chair next to him and searches for his wallet. There’s a crisp ten dollar bill in there, and he thinks little of it when he drops it down on one of Laurent’s many piles of magazines. Briefly, he feels guilty that he doesn’t have more to give. Laurent didn’t have to cave to his brother’s insistence and cut his hair today. It’s plenty obvious he has other things to do besides cut Damen’s hair post-break-up.</p><p>It’s a short walk over to the front desk from Laurent’s station, and Ancel is back with his nose in his seedy magazine. He doesn’t even look up when Damen approaches but speaks like he’s fully aware he’s there.</p><p>“Auguste said this one’s on the house because I was rude to you. Book your appointments the right way next time and get out.”</p><p>Floored at that statement, Damen spins around to catch Auguste helping another one of his employees foil color into an elderly woman’s hair. He senses Damen’s stare and shoots him a wink, voice never faltering in conversation with his staff and their client.</p><p>Damen shrugs his arms back into his coat and sees himself out of the salon without further preamble. It’s been a weird day.</p><p>The distance between the salon and the bus stop is short, so he doesn’t need the map app to get back to it. He sits down hard on the stop’s bench with a loud thunk and receives a glare from the person seated next to him. He’s not even paying attention to anything at all. Damen doesn’t understand why someone like Laurent, whose personality is inherently prickly, would be so nice to him. He doesn’t get why Auguste would give him a free haircut either—how is that man going to make any money if he’s <em> that </em> charitable all the time? Damen’s mental trip to space is interrupted by his phone going off in his pocket.</p><p>It’s probably Nik, again, sending him something that involves his bitch of a cousin or Damen’s asshole of a brother. He can’t help but smile while fishing out his cell phone. Nik’s a good person and a greater friend even if he can be a little overbearing at times.</p><p>Sure enough, when he thumbs through his messages, it’s an invitation from Nikandros saying he’s called all of their mutual friends and they will be waiting for Damen at a local bar they’ve frequented in the past. Drinks are on them, or so Nik says. There’s absolutely no reason why Damen shouldn’t come join them. Taking note of the time, Damen locks his phone and is about to put it away when he remembers the pictures Laurent took for him. <em> High quality headshots </em> he’d called them.</p><p>He unlocks his phone and taps around until he’s in its image gallery. There’s a little new icon next to his camera folder, and he double-taps it to open it and view a nice profile shot of his new haircut. It really does look flattering. Swiping left, he sees there is a three-quarter shot and a frontal shot after that. He minimizes the picture but notices there’s a double of the frontal image. The preview is too small, but there’s something white in the bottom right-hand corner of the duplicate. He taps its icon and uses his thumb and index finger on his free hand to zoom in on the picture.</p><p>What he sees makes him snort out loud. Behind him, he can see Laurent making a face at his reflection in the mirror. His lip is curled while his head is tilted sideways petulantly. It’s ridiculously funny how unattractive it should make a person, but there’s something about it being Laurent who is making the expression that only adds to his <em>natural charm</em>. He looks cute in the way a kitten does when hissing and baring its fangs.</p><p>The only thing that’s really off-putting is Laurent’s middle finger tossed up over the back of Damen’s phone as he holds it up to snap a photo of Damen’s reflection in the mirror. He can’t even find it in himself to be angry about it. It’s funny. It’s really funny, and if that was Laurent’s goal, to goad him into laughter by being rude, then Damen’s all right with that. This close-up, he can finally make out the white text that’s been hand drawn on this photo in the bottom right corner. It’s a phone number.</p><p>A local phone number, Damen realizes.</p><p>So does this mean Laurent likes him or hates him? He bursts out laughing once again startling the person sitting on the bench next to him. They get up in a huff and walk off, but Damen doesn’t care.</p><p>By the time the bus finally pulls up, Damen has decided that he might just be ready for that hot date Laurent hinted he’d get after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixen13/">Vixen13</a> for betaing!</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Onus Fate and Undue Odium</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><b>Title:</b> Onus Fate and Undue Odium<br/><b>Prompt:</b> Angst<br/><b>Rating:</b> PG<br/><b>Summary:</b> There’s something about Sicyon’s highest councilman that Laurent dislikes, but the topic is a painful one that he would rather not discuss.<br/><b>Note:</b> Title is borrowed from A Perfect Circle lyric from the song <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLre0GVbJK0">Feathers</a>. It roughly translates to the burden of fate and the resulting disdain. Fic idea came from and is dedicated to my friend and moonlight beta, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheekysstyles">cheekystyles</a>. I hope you got the hurt you wished for.</p>
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That night when Damen retired to their chambers, he did not expect to see Laurent aggressively pacing in their antechamber. It was a nervous habit he rarely displayed, only one that signified great distress that needed to be mitigated by action to burn through anxious energy. He didn’t even raise his golden head though Damen had not tried to be quiet. His attention was too fixated gnawing at a problem only he could see.</p><p>Today they’d spent a greater part of the afternoon entertaining foreign council from their kyroi, the highest of their members sent to treat with the Kings of Vere and Akielos to report the goings on in their territories. Merging a single fractured kingdom was hard enough, but to forcefully blend two shattered ones together into a new entity was vastly more difficult. They needed as much help as they could get, and the first step was evaluating which kyroi had been making the effort to support their interests. </p><p>The meeting had proven… interesting. Only a handful were willing to directly announce their leige’s fealty while the rest were only able to dodge the question with the vaguest of answers. <em>Only time will tell</em> and <em>No one can be sure how things will resolve</em>. Laurent had not been satisfied with half-truths and made his displeasure apparent by the end of the discussions. But this? This unusual display of apprehension was disconcerting to Damen.</p><p>“My love,” he called out, causing Laurent to stop dead in his tracks. He turned his head in Damen’s direction, but didn’t react to the pet name, one that Damen knew he secretly adored. “You seem troubled.”</p><p>Laurent’s eyes narrowed, the blue of them turning to ice. He moved his cold gaze over Damen’s body eliciting a shiver. “I hadn’t noticed,” he replied before turning and resuming his pacing.</p><p>When Damen took a step closer in the hopes of offering comfort, Laurent flinched and whirled around to stare him down. Damen froze.</p><p>“Don’t-” Laurent started, his breath beginning to turn shallow. “Not tonight,” he said, his voice softer now. There was a wild look there Damen had not seen in a long time. Fear.</p><p>“Of course,” Damen acquiesced. He stepped away from Laurent, slowly while still facing him as one does a feral beast, uncertain of its actions.</p><p>Laurent rarely got into these sorts of moods, so it was a bit of a shock to see one set off for no apparent reason other than a day of hearing troubled reports. Damen tried not to fixate on it. In time, Laurent would tell him what the issue was, and then, he promised himself, he would be there to listen.</p><p>It may have been an hour or hours, but it was dark in their chambers when Laurent finally slipped into their bed. Damen had laid down first, alone, knowing that Laurent would come to him when he was ready. And so he had, in his loose nightshirt with the laces tied high. Something was still bothering him, but Damen refused to press the issue and waited for Laurent to tuck himself up against him.</p><p>He made a point of keeping his hands to himself.</p><p>“I’m… sorry,” Laurent murmured once his head was resting against Damen’s chest. He, too, kept his hands tucked close to himself, but still his body consciously begged for some sort of physical comfort. Damen made sure his breathing was slow and even and did not interrupt his husband’s ramblings.</p><p>“You did not deserve my harsh words earlier this evening. You were right, I… I am troubled,” Laurent admitted, faltering only for a second. “What did you think of the kyroi's highest council members today?”</p><p>The change of topic seemed unrelated but, with Laurent, there was always something deeper. Damen considered his answer and then said, “I was surprised by Makedon’s councilor. He is more level headed than I expected, and Nikandros’ man, Tassos, is true. He has always had impeccable sense to snuff out treachery.”</p><p>“A nice way to say he is paranoid. You are too kind.”</p><p>Damen chuckled and tried to sound serious when he chided Laurent. “Be nice. He is my dearest friend.”</p><p>Laurent gave a breathless laugh before his face turned serious once more. He placed a hand gently on Damen’s chest and tipped his head back to look into Damen’s eyes. Very little moonlight filtered into their room, so it was hard to see what expression he was making.</p><p>“What of Kyril? How do you feel about him?”</p><p>“Orrin’s man?”</p><p>“Yes, he is the representative for Sicyon, is he not?”</p><p>Damen brought his hand up to cover Laurent’s. “He is,” he replied easily. “I can’t say much of him or his newly appointed lord, Orrin, but he did pledge readily along with Tassos and Egan and has a long history advising under my father’s reign. It is hard to find fault in those who would willingly stand with us and our cause.”</p><p>“That is my concern,” Laurent said quietly. He looked away from Damen. “I don’t think he should remain on the council.”</p><p>Damen startled at the suggestion. That was not expected. Rarely did Laurent ever have such strong feelings for someone that he would ask to remove them without first having caused great upset.</p><p>“May I ask why?” Damen pressed, tightening his grip on Laurent’s hand.</p><p>“You may not,” Laurent replied, looking back into his eyes. Cold was seeping back in. Damen didn’t like it.</p><p>“Then, I cannot agree. He is a man who has served Akielos loyally, before even my reign, and has given us no reason to distrust him or his kyros' motives.”</p><p>“It is not their loyalty I question,” Laurent stated, but refused to clarify further. “I’m not even certain Kyros Orrin is aware, but I do not approve of his councilman. I ask you, as your husband and your heart, trust me on this and speak no more.”</p><p>He hated when Laurent got like this, delivering ultimatums with little reason to guide them. How could Damen say yes or no without knowing the deepest thoughts racing through Laurent’s mind? So, instead, he said nothing.</p><p>It was the wrong response.</p><p>Laurent withdrew his hand and removed himself from the bed.</p><p>“Where are you go-”</p><p>“No,” Laurent said unkindly. The bad mood had returned. “Do not follow me.”</p><p>Damen sat helpless watching Laurent fumble to find a candle and match. He managed to light it after a brief struggle getting the match to catch, and it was only then that Damen saw the fine tremble in his fingers.</p><p>Their argument needn't end like this.</p><p>“And if I should?” Damen challenged, pulling the covers back and moving to sit up.</p><p>“You would disobey a direct order from your king?”</p><p>Laurent’s tremors had stopped. His grip tightened on the handhold of the candle holder.</p><p>“I am your king, too,” Damen told him. Deep down he knew that was the wrong thing to say to his already agitated lover, but this game of hot and cold was getting old with Laurent. If he would just come out and say what troubled him so, then, perhaps, Damen could right it.</p><p>“Try it and we will see who wields more power between two kings.”</p><p>Laurent’s threat was clear, and Damen knew he would have no difficulty following through with it. Disregarding him now, Laurent turned to stalk off toward their antechamber. Not long after, Damen heard the sounds of him beginning to stoke a fire in their hearth.</p><p>He sighed. It would appear that he would be sleeping alone once more.<br/>
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<hr/><p><br/>
A few days passed, but the incident was not spoken of again. The kyroi’s councilmen had left Marlas and were on the way to their respective territories. It was peaceful now. Laurent had returned to Damen’s arms and all felt right with the world despite their little disagreement having never truly been resolved.</p><p>Or, at least, that’s what Damen wanted to believe. The feeling dissipated when one of their squires crashed into him on the way toward their chambers to share an afternoon meal with Laurent. The young boy had been carrying far too many things, arms laden in books and scrolls that had severely blocked his view. Laurent was a voracious reader and was borrowing entire sections of the library once a week. He must have been returning these books and running personal missives for him, well, all but one scroll.</p><p>When Damen helped the squire stand, he noted the dark blue wax of Laurent’s Veretian past, his signet ring stamped into the seal. It was strange to see it again after so many months of using their new empire’s symbol, the star and a lion’s head.</p><p>“What is this,” he asked the young squire, a boy no older than his teens. It was obvious he was nervous, quaking before his king's scrutiny.</p><p>“It’s… i-it… it’s-” he stuttered.</p><p>It was clear to Damen that whatever the message contained, he was not supposed to know about it.</p><p>“Go,” he told the squire in a clipped tone. “Speak not of this to anyone. There was no message, and if King Laurent questions you later, you did not willingly give this to me; I commanded it from you.”</p><p>The squire nodded and gathered the things he'd dropped before running red-faced down the hall.</p><p>Damen waited until the boy was gone and then popped the seal of the letter. The handwriting was unmistakably Laurent’s, penned in Akielon. It was addressed to another Sicyon councilmember, Danos. He was beneath Kyril both in years and rank. Maybe one day he would inherit the older advisor's top position, but for now, he was merely an understudy.</p><p>The longer Damen read the letter, the quicker he saw the treachery of what Laurent was instigating. This message was meant to sow dissent amongst the Sicyon court—it asked for information, obtained through any underhanded means deemed necessary. It promised greater wealth and prestige to Danos if only he would comply with King Laurent’s wish and set his men to spy on councilman Kyril closely.</p><p>Damen didn’t even realize he was crumpling the parchment in his hand until their bedroom door creaked open, and Laurent was peeking his head out to stare at Damen. The color instantly drained from his face when he realized what Damen held.</p><p>“Come,” was all he said before disappearing back within the room.</p><p>Damen did. He waited until the door shut behind him before rounding on Laurent. “Why do you sneak around with secret missives not penned between the two of us? Why do you resort to such insidious Veretian tactics once more?” He didn’t mean for the words to come out as accusations, but the damage was already done.</p><p>“Perhaps it is because I am Veretian,” Laurent replied. “Or is it you who has forgotten what you wed, husband?” His tongue was still that of a serpent’s, forked and scenting the air for any sign of weakness.</p><p>Truthfully, Damen <em>had</em> almost forgotten.</p><p>“But why like this? I told you of my feelings on this matter, and yet still, you fight me without explaining the reason for why you are so distrusting of Orrin’s man!”</p><p>“Because you broke your promise,” Laurent told him, crossing the distance in wide steps and jabbing his index finger straight into Damen’s chest, right above his heart.</p><p>“I have done no such thing,” he said defensively. He didn’t even know where Laurent’s upset was coming from.</p><p>“You once told me in Mellos ‘<em>you are not alone</em>’ and yet here you leave me to fight by myself, then you have the gall I be mad when it is you who refuses to stand with me!”</p><p>Damen wanted to get mad, he really did, but it was hard to when Laurent’s eyes took on the sheen of repressed emotion, his body captive to the same fear Damen had witnessed in him nights before. “You would bade me watch others suffer for the mere sake of reciprocity? I don’t care how many times Kyril agrees with what we are trying to achieve. <em>I</em> do not agree with him!”</p><p>“A reason for which you have not told me,” Damen said once Laurent had finished. “Tell me why, and I may yet understand!”</p><p>They were shouting now, but no guards entered. It was rare that any of their disagreements got so loud, but this was a battle between kings. Those who might be within earshot knew better than to interfere.</p><p>“How do you think my uncle rose to power, Damianos?”</p><p>Laurent only ever used his proper name when he was being formal or trying to cruelly prove a point. The sound of it raised the hackles on the back of Damen’s neck. He didn’t like being treated as such, especially when his name's use was meant as a mockery of his intellect.</p><p>“I imagine it was by having great influence.”</p><p>“And you would be correct,” Laurent answered snidely. “How does one gain great influence?”</p><p>“I am not a boy, and you are not my tutor. Answer me plainly, Laurent.”</p><p>“One gains influence by being amicable. One is amicable by agreeing with those in greater power than themselves and always ensuring to stroke their egos. Lucky for me, mine is not so easily stroked. Kyril offers pretty words, and surely they may be reminiscent of his kyros' own, but it is his actions that cause me unease. Do you know where his eyes wander when he thinks no one is looking during a meal? Did you know he offered a bribe to one of our squires to join him for a private ride during his stay?”</p><p>Damen felt sick.</p><p>They had many squires; it could have been any one of the boys. All them were from notable families in Akielos training in the way of sword and respect with their kings. And while they were all young, the youngest not yet even a teen, Damen and Laurent had never had any intention of abusing their services in ways that they were <em>not</em> intended to be utilized.</p><p>The last time someone had held preferences like that… Damen felt something cold settle deep in his bones.</p><p>Laurent <em>would</em> know about that. He would recognize the tellings of a perversion so unspeakable that it was largely hidden and unrecognizable to an untrained eye. That kind of abuse was something Laurent had witnessed time and time again, had lived through as surely as Aimeric and Nicaise, and yet here he was, now a survivor, seeking to put an end to such behaviors before they could once again get out of hand.</p><p>“Which squire?” Damen asked.</p><p>Laurent’s gaze hardened. “Does it matter?”</p><p>It did not, but Damen would still like to know who so as to have words with the boy later and see what had actually transpired between him and Kyril.</p><p>“You don’t believe me,” Laurent laughed bitterly, acridly.</p><p>“I did not say that.” Damen took a step forward.</p><p>“You don’t have to,” Laurent explained, taking a step back, eyes still glistening. This was always a difficult topic to brooch with him, and Damen regretted that they would have to discuss it once more.</p><p>Damen dropped the letter and rushed toward Laurent. He had to bite back a grimace at the shudder he felt run through Laurent’s lithe frame when he finally managed to gather him up into his arms. Laurent clearly didn’t want touch right now, but Damen was going to give it to him anyway to remind him, bodily, that he had never once broken that promise. Laurent would never have to face anything alone ever again, but especially not this.</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice wavering when he began to feel wetness stain the front of his clothing.</p><p>“Why should I have to?” Laurent wept silently into Damen’s chest.</p><p>Damen continued to hold him all the while, whispering that he would right this wrong, that they would stop anyone from hurting innocents that same way his uncle once had. It hurt to know he could never stop the pain and anger of what had been done to Laurent, but they could prevent that same fate from happening to someone else.</p><p>As long as he drew breath, Damen swore that he would never let anyone hurt Laurent like this ever again.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. King(s) of the Rodeo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><b>Title:</b> King(s) of the Rodeo<br/><b>Prompt:</b> Kings<br/><b>Rating:</b> PG<br/><b>Summary:</b> Damen thought he’d challenged and beaten all of his best competition by now, but when a stunning foreign cowboy steps up and says he’s competing, it’s clear he’s finally found the rival of his dreams.<br/><b>Note:</b> That rodeo terminology confusing to you, too? Don't worry fam, I gotchu. I did my best to try and explain things using context, but if you'd like a list of common rodeo terminology, <a href="https://www.hotfair.com/p/events/prca-rodeo/rodeo_terms">click here</a>.</p>
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“You comin’, Damen? Saddle ridin’ finished.”</p><p>“Yeah, just a minute, Nik! I’m takin’ to my ma!”</p><p>Nikandros poked his head back into the locker room. “Well, don’t take too long; we ain’t got all damn day. The first event is starting any minute!”</p><p>Damen waved him off and turned back to his phone.</p><p>“You be careful, all right?”</p><p>“Yes, momma,” Damen replied, double-checking his rider’s vest was strapped tight. While she was very supportive of his interests and only ever encouraged him to pursue them, watching Damen risk injury riding dangerous animals was not something she could handle in person.</p><p>“I love you, Damianos.”</p><p>“I love you, too,” he said, smiling into the phone. “I gotta go ride a horse now. I’ll call you durin’ a break.”</p><p>“I’ll be here, baby,” Egeria promised. Then the line cut off. Damen pitched the phone into his locker. Bareback riding was not a sport he wanted to lose it to. Gathering up his rider’s glove, he stepped out of the men’s locker room doorway and into the hall, crashing right into someone passing by.</p><p>“Whoa there,” he leaned forward to catch them before they toppled over. They were dressed in rider’s gear, a safety vest with jeans and chaps, complete with a fine white hat. It was hard to make out their features hidden under the brim, but some pale hair the color of straw was peeking out. That was certainly different. When Damen finally got a closer look, they appeared to be a kid or some sort of helper. They were short and slim, well, shorter and slimmer than him anyway. Damen kept his hand on their shoulder to keep them steady. “You all right?”</p><p>His hand got slapped off.</p><p>“Don’t touch me,” said the kid in decent Akielon as he looked up. The most stunning pair of blue eyes and pale skin greeted Damen. This boy was Veretian, an unusual presence at a southern rodeo.</p><p>“You, uh, lost or somethin’?” Damen tried again. He didn’t look a day over sixteen and likely was lost in the backstage area looking for his brother or father who must’ve entered into today’s competition.</p><p>“I’m not lost,” the kid hissed. His voice sounded harsh coming from someone so fair. “I’m here to compete.”</p><p>Damen’s eyes bugged out for a second. “Wha—you? Compete?” The incredulity of his voice carried louder than he’d thought, and one or two of the Akielon competitors still in the locker room looked over with mild interest.</p><p>“You sure don’t look it,” Damen added, tossing a hand on his hip. “Are you here for the junior rodeo? ‘Cuz I hate to tell ya, that event ended this mornin’.”</p><p>“I am not a child, you idiot. I’m a competitor.”</p><p>“You?” Damen backed up and sized up the youth in front of him. “Yer gonna compete?” He didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so condescending, but really, this kid looked around a hundred pounds wet and way too soft to have anything worth offering to today’s sort of sports. Maybe barrel racing but definitely not any of the harder events like the bareback which was starting now, where Damen was supposed to be heading.</p><p>“You don’t think I can?” came the haughty reply. “Just watch.” And then the little Veretain <em>prince</em> shoved his way past Damen and stalked off toward the rider’s loading area. Damen followed after him; they were going the same direction, but he made sure to keep his distance. He tightened his rider’s glove on his right hand as he walked but made sure to keep his eyes on the back of that blonde head.</p><p>Now he was curious to see what might happen if what the kid had said was true.<br/>
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Damen picked himself up from the dirt and attempted to dust off his chaps. He’d heard the buzzer, but it was just a hair before he’d gotten flicked off. Bareback bronc riding was dangerous, maybe even more dangerous than bull riding. He felt blessed he hadn’t sustained any serious injury. Nik though, Damen laughed to himself as he looked up to see his own score on the board, he’d gotten kicked off before making the full eight seconds and eaten a face full of dirt.</p><p>Sure enough, when Damen made it back to the fence, he found a disgruntled looking Nikandros waiting for him. He got clapped on the shoulder in congratulations. Out of the two of them, Damen had placed higher. They positioned themselves behind the gate and turned around to watch the rest of their competition.</p><p>“You got mud on ya,” Damen elbowed Nik as they got themselves situated. Four more riders attempted the broncs, and two had impressive wrecks that soundly secured Damen a spot in the top three. Just when they were about to head back to the locker room in preparation for the steer wrestling, Damen saw him.</p><p>A familiar hat was getting settled on top of a horse at a nearby gate. The rider must have felt Damen’s gaze because he turned just in time to catch Damen staring. The announcer called out the name Laurent R., and a self-assured smirk appeared on his face. Now seated, he turned around in time to lean back and raise his left hand, the signal he was ready for the gate to be opened. A handler tugged it open, the thick ropes clacking against the metal loudly, and the horse was off.</p><p>Damen watched. He didn’t allow himself to blink.</p><p>The horse Laurent was riding was a handsome gelding with a blazed face and a bay coat. It bucked like mad the moment it was free. Wildly, it kicked its hind legs before completely exiting the pen. Laurent’s hat fell off three bucks later, his short blonde hair whipping from the momentum of the horse’s movements, but still, he stayed on. The sound of the timer rang out, and a rodeo helper raced over to soothe the horse and assist Laurent as he dismounted. He slung an arm around the pick-up man and got off the horse gracefully. Laurent didn’t even look up at his score and chose to walk over and grab his hat off the ground.</p><p>“92 points, ladies and gentlemen! That’s Laurent R. on Royal Rival now in first place! What a ride!”</p><p>“I’ll be damned,” Damen whispered to himself as he watched the Veretian wave at the crowd.<br/>
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Steer wrestling was the second event and a chance for Damen and Nik to shine. Akielons were renowned for their prowess in physical sports, and this was one in which both he and Nik excelled. As before, Nik drew to go first. His hazer was good, commanded the steer straight and true, but it was strong and fought against Nik every step of the way once he got his hands on its horns. He finally managed to get it down but not after more than six seconds had already passed.</p><p>It was a decent score, but one Nik would have to hope others couldn’t best. Damen said nothing but felt confident he could beat it.</p><p>When it came time for Damen’s turn, he found himself unconsciously searching the competitor’s stands for a familiar hat. He didn’t find it, but that wasn’t a surprise. Steer wrestling was a test of strength, something he didn’t suspect that kid, his name was Laurent, would be able or willing to do.</p><p>Damen shook out his shoulders and mounted his horse. She was fine enough, a five year blood bay and calm as he got himself situated. They wandered over to the starting box, and Damen got her turned around. While the handlers looked to Damen for his signal, she chewed her bit.</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>The buzzer went off, and the steer shot out of the opened chute.</p><p>Damen clipped his spurs into his horse. She took off after the steer just as fast. His hazer was the same one who’d run with Nik and kept the steer in line. Damen let go of the reins, one hand outstretched as he leaned over in his saddle to the right. His arm managed to catch hold of the steer and lock onto its right horn, the one farthest away. Damen’s other hand followed a second later and grabbed onto the other, wrenching the beast’s head up and back as his feet fell from the horse. She was smart, pulled away once she felt Damen’s weight leave her, and Damen dug the heels of his boots into the dirt. It slowed the steer some, but the real power move was when he threw all of his weight back forcing the animal to follow him or risk injury.</p><p>Thankfully, it did. All four of its legs flew out in one direction, and Damen let go the moment he heard the announcer’s shout. </p><p>“Four point two seconds. Whoo!”</p><p>The steer was back up and running before Damen even got to his feet. He’d traded his chaps for a pair of thick jeans before the event and would need to change them again for the final one. So far so good, he thought while dusting himself off. A third and first place ranking still had him on track to be the all-around winner for today’s rodeo.</p><p>It was just a bit of a shame his little rival wasn’t there to witness his win.</p><p>--</p><p>Tie-down roping was the next event, and Damen watched from the stands as Nik competed and came in fourth place. An Akielon youth named Lydos beat him by a hair, roping the calf a whole half second faster than Nik’s own time. Placing for a monetary prize was still a win though, and Damen made sure to clap his friend on the back appreciatively as they went to the competitor’s stands to watch the team-roping event start.</p><p>If Damen were better with a lasso, he’d offer to be Nik’s partner, but as it was, he had no talent for this sort of event. Things that didn’t involve physically wrestling something into submission were outside of his interests.</p><p>Most of the teams entered in the event he’d seen work together before, but when that familiar white hat reappeared, Damen made sure to sit up a little straighter in his seat. Laurent R. and Auguste R. the overhead display read. A team of brothers out of Arles, the capital of Vere.</p><p>So, they <em>were</em> Veretian after all.</p><p>Seeing one Veretian cowboy was an oddity in itself, but to see a pair of them was something else. This far down in Kesus, it was unheard of. Both of them were lean and fair, truly like princes amongst the dark and stocky Akielon riders. Where Laurent’s hair was short and mostly hidden beneath his hat, his brother wore his long and tied back in a braid. They rode a pair of cremello colored quarter horses. Lauret’s was slimmer as he took up the heeler’s position, whereas his brother’s was taller and heavier, ideal for a header. They trotted over to their places behind the steer in their respective boxes and waited for the wrangler to finish getting set. In their hands, they carried bright yellow ropes as golden as their hair. Nik was eyeing them scrupulously when they raised them in synch.</p><p>“Think they’re any good?” he asked Damen off-hand.</p><p>“Just watch,” Damen echoed the words he’d heard thrown at him earlier, seeing both men nod to one another at the same time. The steer handler saw it and released the animal from its pen. Both Veretians took off the moment the steer raced past the barrier, the header leading by a half second. Auguste threw his lasso first; it caught around one of the steer’s horns. Not the best catch, but it wasn’t a disqualification. Laurent followed up behind his brother and let loose with his lasso around the animal’s hind legs. He got both in one go; a perfect shot. Together they dallied the slack of their ropes around their mount’s saddle horns and pulled to help straighten the steer out between the two of them. Laurent leaned back until nearly horizontal on his horse. He’d played his part well enough, but his brother was struggling to face his horse the right away and kill the clock.</p><p>Overall, they placed third in their event after getting knocked out of second by a pair of exceptionally skilled women from Vask.</p><p>The next event was barrel racing, and sure enough, Damen had been right that this was Laurent’s true domain. He drew a middle position and trotted in on a familiar looking horse from the holding pens. It didn’t look like he’d changed or even left his saddle since his appearance at the team roping event. His horse didn’t seem perturbed though. Damen watched Laurent lean forward and run his hand appreciatively along its fine pale gold mane. Whatever he was whispering to it went unheard in the cheers of the crowd as another racer completed his circuit. It was a young Akielon named Pallas, and he took first place with a score of thirteen point eight. A tough number to beat for even the most skilled of riders.</p><p>When it was finally Laurent’s turn, he and his horse cantered into the starting position and waited for the signal.</p><p>As soon as it was given, they zipped out of the box. Laurent steered them toward the right to circle around their first barrel, his horse kicking up a cloud of dust as it tried to keep the turn tight. Soon as they cleared it, Laurent’s wrists were snapping the reins again, forcing the horse back into a gallop. He cut his turn at the second barrel a little too hard, his horse’s flank nudging the marker ever so slightly, but it didn’t fall down. From there, they raced off to the final barrel, seconds counting up on their clock. Laurent’s horse made it’s tightest loop yet, hooves skidding in the dirt as it drifted around the last metal obstacle but never touched it. A perfect turn, Damen marveled.</p><p>Now finished with the barrels, they clipped across the arena back towards their starting position just as the timer hit the nine second mark. Damen watched with rapt fascination as Laurent leaned forward into his horse but didn’t move to reach for the crop. His mount picked up speed all on its own, and it was a novel way to see a rider handle their horse.</p><p>Damen was genuinely impressed.</p><p>“Damen.” Nik’s voice brought him back to himself as the announcer thundered out praise for the Veretian rider. “I know that look,” he said.</p><p>“What look?” Damen asked though he could feel himself smiling.</p><p>“The one that had you sneakin’ yer bull ridin’ competition from last year back into the hotel room for the night.”</p><p>Damen groaned. “It was <em>only</em> seven hours, Nik. You act like it was all damn night.”</p><p>“Seven hours of sittin’ aimless in the truck. I say, no.” Nikandros punched him lightly in the shoulder.</p><p>“Yer no fun,” Damen laughed as they got up from their seats to prepare for the final event of the evening. The fact that Laurent had placed first in barrel racing with a time of thirteen point four seconds, officially dethroning the Akielon favorite, may or may not have factored into Damen’s decision to go against Nik’s wishes.<br/>
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Nik helped Damen suit up the same way Damen helped him. Bull riding was the most dangerous sport after barebacking, and they made sure their vests were tight, their face masks solid, and their rosin at the ready. Damen had drawn to ride before Nik, and his bull was named Prince Killer. It had a reputation for being a nasty ride, but Damen was up for the challenge.</p><p>“Got your mouth guard?” Nik wound his bull rope up and turned to see Damen flash him a red grin. “Yer momma’d kill me if I let you get hurt.”</p><p>Damen shrugged. “Ain’t much to do about it other than ride well,” he mumbled around the hard plastic.</p><p>“Yeah, well, you be careful all the same,” Nik cautioned, slapping Damen on the back.</p><p>They made their way out to the bullpens, and Damen began the arduous task of rosining his glove and rope. A rider three ahead of him barely lasted seven seconds on his bull, and it wasn’t even a notorious bucker. As always, the anticipation of the ride had Damen the most excited. There was nothing quite like hopping on the back of a beast ten times your weight with a bad attitude to match. Bull riding was dangerous, but Damen lived for the fight. The battle of strength and wills between only you and the bull was a rush like nothing else. Maybe it was the knowledge that one slip up, any little miscalculation, might be the one that ended him, but Damen figured the danger was a fair trade for the adrenaline rush it gave.</p><p>His turn came sooner rather than later, and Damen walked over to the pen housing his bull. As he climbed up the gate to mount, he caught himself searching again for that same white hat out in the competitor’s stands. Nothing was there and neither was a hint of gold marking his Veretian rival. Perhaps he’d stuck to the locker rooms since his events appeared to be over.</p><p>Laurent had competed in three, just like Damen, and he wondered briefly if Laurent's brother, Auguste, had done more than just team roping, too.</p><p>Damen hopped over the gate and landed on Prince Killer’s back with a thud. The bull didn’t seem to appreciate it, snorting loudly and jangling its bells in the chute. Nik came up and gave Damen's shoulder one last squeeze for luck before slipping back behind the rodeo hands. Damen took that extra couple of seconds he was allowed to make sure his gloved hand was twined in the rope just right. Readjusting himself on the bull one last time, he moved his free hand to the rail.</p><p>The gateman asked if he was ready.</p><p>Damen nodded.</p><p>As soon as the gate was pulled, Damen’s bull turned towards freedom and kicked its rear end hard to the right while its torso bucked up and to the left. Damen pitched his free hand high in the air as per the rules and held on, clenching his thighs around the bull and tightening his muscles to follow the movement of its bucks. Part of the skill involved in riding was predicting which way the damn thing would kick or spin and how high or far it would jump.</p><p>Prince Killer was a flyer. It bucked at least four feet off the ground and liked to twist in mid air. That wasn’t anything Damen hadn’t dealt with before, but it was still tricky. On one particularly rough landing, Damen slid a little too far to the right. If he hadn't been expecting it, he might have slipped right off. But balance was something he and Nik had practiced for years being kids and being dumb. He tightened up his core and shifted his hips at the last second, throwing his weight in the next direction he guessed Prince Killer would buck.</p><p>He got it right.</p><p>After that, it was almost easy. The bull was getting frustrated that nothing it was doing seemed to toss Damen off and resorted to hard spins with half kicks. It was the last violent buck that loosened Damen’s grip, but he’d been counting his eight and was willing to let go.</p><p>Getting on the bull was easy. Getting off the son of a bitch was hard. When he fell, it was right on the flat of his back; definitely not a great place to be. The bullfighters rushed to his aid and tried to herd Prince Killer away from Damen, who scrambled back onto his feet as quickly as he could. He was ushered toward the gate and climbed up a few rungs before removing his helmet.</p><p>The crowd in the arena cheered at his victory over the bull. Damen closed his eyes and let it wash over him. He’d earned this.</p><p>When he finally climbed on the other side of the barrier, Nik was waiting for him. Behind Nikandros was that hat he’d been looking for, its owner’s arms crossed over his chest as his brother, Auguste, ran up to congratulate Damen on his exceptional ride. They shook hands courteously, Damen apologizing for still wearing his glove. He made sure to compliment Auguste on his placement for team roping, which the Veretian took graciously. Apparently, he’d participated in saddle riding earlier and snagged first place. That made him and his brother top contenders for the all-around championship if they continued showing up to other events in the Southern provinces.</p><p>When Damen finally broke away from Auguste, who was now engaged in conversation with Nikandros to wish him luck on his upcoming ride, Laurent approached. His face was neutral, but his eyes blazed with something foreign Damen hadn’t seen before.</p><p>“Like whatcha see?” Damen asked flirtatiously, working to unlace his riding glove.</p><p>Laurent’s eyes narrowed. “Did you see your score?”</p><p>“Don’t need to,” Damen replied. There was an easy smile on his face. He was sure the ride had been a good one, but the real prize was the attention he’d garnered from that particular performance, and it was now staring him right in the face.</p><p>“Still wanna compete with me?” Damen joked, now removing the glove from his hand and holding it out for Laurent to shake. He was only a little surprised when Laurent stepped forward to take it.</p><p>“Why not?” the blonde countered coolly. There might even have been a hint of a smile curling the edges of his lips, but Damen couldn’t focus on that, not when those startling blue eyes of Laurent’s were so plainly sparking with a challenge. Damen liked that, and when their hands met, a thrill of electricity raced through him.</p><p>He didn’t have to win the all-around title to feel like he’d come out on top today. Damen already had the one thing that made him feel like the king of the rodeo right here. The all-around award was just a formality now that he was competing with a dark horse like Laurent. Maybe in the near future he’d get a shot at beating that seven hour record.</p><p>He could hope at least.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>HOLY CRAP. Eight days later and we did it y'all. I'm exhausted, but happy Lamen Week everyone! A very special thank you to my friend and helper <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixen13/">Vixen13</a>. If not for you and your assistance, this would just be one hot mess. Seriously, you're great. I owe you so much. Thank you.</p><p>And another special thank you to everyone who took the time to read and comment/kudos this week. Without all of your hype, I don't think I would have made it through. You're all wonderful, and I'm so honored I got to share something with you. Hopefully there will be more Capri from me in the future, but for now... I rest. 😴</p>
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